


The Punchline

by aac7



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Slow Burn, byleth and claude are tired law students, byleth is also nosy, claude is nosy, jeralt is a lawyer bcs i want him to be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25080430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aac7/pseuds/aac7
Summary: Claude had a plan. He always has one.But when change literally throws him in a loop, he's immediately intrigued. Just like that, his plan changes.Step 1: Get closer. Earn her trust and the trust of those around her.Step 2: Utilize that trust to uncover all the dirty little secrets of those around her.Step 3: Fall madly in love and pine—Wait, what was that last one?
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 102
Kudos: 144





	1. Just One Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Bri for helping me get this fic off the ground and listening to my whack ideas! You should check out her super cute fic, "Bubble Bubble, Toil and Trouble" for prime disaster cat Sothis and heart-warming claudeleth content.

“It’s the last weekend before you’re officially a law student,” Sylvain states for the fifth time that hour. Claude, ignoring him for the fifth time that hour, sits comfortably on the couch, laptop resting in his lap as he reads up on yet another assigned reference case for his class on criminal law. He’s worked hard the last four years to get into Garreg Mach University’s School of Law, and he wasn’t going to kick off his year by being unprepared on the first day.

He’s in the middle of reading through the opposition’s case when Sylvain reaches out and shuts his laptop, ignoring his protests and pulling it from his lap, tucking it under his arm before Claude can open it again. “Come on, man. You have all semester to stress out over what some old dude said to a naughty old dude a long time ago. I’m having a party tonight, and you’re coming,” the redhead insists, clearly not keen on taking ‘no’ for an answer. 

“I don’t know, Sylvain,” Claude sighs. The last weekend before the semester started was always absolutely wild. Students were all desperate for one final hurrah before they were forced to rise at ungodly hours and sit through lectures and work to the bone weekly to meet report deadlines. As a first year law student, however, Claude didn’t have time to go on a weekend bender, as he had for the last four consecutive years of his undergrad. While Claude did like to have his fun, it was time for him to buckle down and actually _try_. “Shouldn’t you be studying too? You are starting your master’s next week.”

Sylvain, who was in fact starting his master’s in international marketing, simply shrugs as if his entire future isn’t on the line, setting Claude’s laptop _just_ out of his reach on the coffee table. “Yeah, but who would I be if I didn’t blow off some steam before the year starts?” 

“He wouldn’t be Sylvain, that’s for sure,” Hilda laughs upon entering the room, long pink ponytail bouncing behind her. Felix trails in behind her, dropping a gym bag onto the floor and slumping into an armchair. “Claude, you’re coming out tonight,” Hilda announces, claiming a spot on the couch beside him. “You’ve been cooped up here all week reading. Ugh, you’re supposed to start reading _after_ school starts,” she groans dramatically, as if she were who stayed up until 3am reading last night.

“You mean after school starts and the night before an exam like you?” Felix scoffs. “Some of us have healthy studying habits, Hilda, you should try them sometime.” 

Hilda picks up and whips a nearby throw pillow at him, but Felix catches it with ease. “Some of us,” she gestures between herself and Sylvain, “have healthy social lives. You two losers should try them sometime.” Claude is about to protest that his social life is plenty healthy, but Hilda’s rant is far from over. “You’re supposed to agree with me, Felix! We were just talking about Claude’s nonexistent love life.” Right about now, Claude is regretting giving her a key to his apartment. 

Now the centre of attention, Claude sits up a little straighter. “Hey! My love life is anything but nonexistent. I’ve had my fair share of… flings,” he defends weakly. It’s not exactly the truth, but it isn’t a lie either. 

Sylvain doesn’t even bother to stifle his loud laughter, and Claude turns to shoot a pointed glare at him. “You mean the handful of times you’ve slept with that exchange student Petra during the first few years of your undergrad? Yeah, that doesn’t count anymore Claude, you aren’t some eighteen year old virgin looking for a little relief. You’re a man now, and men have desires.” 

“I don’t have time to entertain a parade of women like you, and I have more important things to worry about than if I’m getting laid or not,” Claude frowns. _It has been a while though._

Hilda shakes her head. “Not quite what I meant. I don’t want him to be a man whore like you,” she clarifies, and it’s Claude’s turn to laugh as Sylvain feigns offence. “I meant that maybe it’s time you settle down a little. Find someone who can help you take a break at the end of a long day of… lawyering?” 

Flashing her his most handsome smile, Claude tilts his head at his best friend. “Why would I need to find someone like that when I have you?” 

Hilda pushes her heart shaped sunglasses atop her head, snapping her bubblegum and patting his cheek lovingly. “I may be bi, Claude, but I’m not desperate,” she coos, pinching his cheek when he pouts. 

“Also, she has a crush on a certain veterinary student,” Felix chimes in from across the room, not looking up from his phone. Though Hilda is silent, Claude takes one look at her face and her twitching right eye gives her away as she nods her head in Sylvain’s direction. Claude sees Felix wince, mouthing an apology to Hilda. 

Right. Sylvain doesn’t know yet. If one of them expressed even the most mild of interest in someone, Sylvain would be the worst person to know. His loud personality combined with his lack of filter? His pestering would be relentless, and his meddling was even worse. 

“A veterinary student?” their nosy friend repeats, and Hilda’s cheeks turn a shade of pink that nearly matches her hair. “Wait a minute…” Realization dawns on him, and his eyes widen, his mouth hanging open. “You have a crush on Marianne?” 

“Shut _up_ ,” she hisses, waving her little fist at him. “I’ll kill you if you mention this to her, Sylvain. I swear it,” she growls, and Sylvain holds his hands up in surrender, sensing how close he’s coming to a beating and choosing to let it slide _for now._

“Hey, I have do a degree in marketing you know, I could totally help you out,” he says with a wink, and Hilda rolls her eyes. “I can sell just about _anything_. I can even make you look good.” 

“If I ever need help getting a girl, I would _never_ come to you for help,” Hilda jeers, pushing herself up off the couch. 

Claude nods knowingly. As Hilda’s best friend, he _always_ knows exactly what she’s thinking. “Because she would obviously come to me,” he says, but Hilda shoots him an amused glance. “You may be an educated salesman, but it’s a lawyer’s job to sell their client to the jury regardless of the crime they’ve committed,” he continues. Now, still a student, Claude has by no means done this before, but he’d seen his mother do it enough times. Everyone did say he took after his mother, so wouldn’t he have inherited her prowess? “I’d be better than you by a long shot.”

Hilda doesn’t even pretend to contemplate it. “Yeah, I actually wasn’t talking about either of you,” she hums, waving her hand around the room. “I’d go to you,” she looks at Sylvain, “for a burning sensation when I pee, and you,” she points at Claude next, “if I do something a little illegal or want to mess with Lorenz. No, for this, I would go to Ingrid. You don’t get a man like _the_ Glenn Fraldarius and keep him for that long without having some type of skill.”

Okay, maybe he doesn’t _always_ know what she’s thinking. 

At the mention of Ingrid and Glenn, Sylvain’s whole demeanour shifts. Claude watches his shoulders tighten as his carefree and lazy expression instantly turns sour. Even after almost five years, it’s still a touchy subject for him. 

“Glenn isn’t that big of a catch, Ingrid could do better,” Felix huffs, his expression also sour but for a different reason. It‘s eerily similar to a grumpy cat. Hilda laughs as if he’s told a joke, shaking her head and unlocking her phone, proceeding to scroll through one of Glenn’s social media profiles. 

Rising out of the armchair with a groan, Felix stretches momentarily before slapping Sylvain on the shoulder. With Felix, that’s about the equivalent of a sympathetic hug. “Speaking of, I’ve gotta head out. A family friend is moving into town today, and my old man offered to help them get settled in.” He bends down to pick up his gym bag, pausing as soon as he turns on his heel. “Actually, they have a daughter around our age. Her name is—”

“Is she hot?” Sylvain interrupts, immediately snapping himself out of his dour little pity party at the mere mention of the opposite sex. That’s one way to get him out of a mood. He perches on the armrest of the chair Felix had occupied, staring at his friend with as much hunger as a cat staring at a fish tank. 

Looking up from her phone, Hilda frowns disapprovingly. “Goddess, Sylvain, you’re like some kind of dog. It’s his family friend, not another chance for a hookup.”

Before Sylvain can make a fruitless argument, Felix cuts in. “She’s alright,” he answers with a half-hearted shrug. While Claude knows not to take Felix’s word on this type of thing, it’s apparently enough to catch Sylvain’s attention. “Pretty sure I’ve mentioned her to you before.” 

“Wait, the hot girl you grew up with? The one who moved away that you and your family visit every summer?” He immediately perks up when Felix nods. “Oh, you are _so_ bringing her tonight.” Claude finds himself mildly curious. Maybe he should start paying attention to Felix more often than not. 

After a brief moment of consideration, “Fine,” Felix sighs. When he’s already halfway to the door when he adds, “Try anything and you’re _dead_. She’s like a sister to Glenn and I, and my parents adore her.” Now Claude is very curious. Who could possibly have earned the favour of not one, but all four Fraldarius’? The girl must ooze equally powerful amounts of charisma and poise. 

Sylvain, never one to sense when enough is enough, calls back, “Then I look forward to becoming your in-law!” 

Hilda immediately exits her social media and begins recording. She gets the camera up just in time to see Sylvain’s own boot flung violently at him from the doorway, hitting him square in the chest with so much force that it knocks him off balance and onto the floor. The door then slams shut, and Sylvain hesitantly peeks over the couch before dragging himself to his feet, wincing and rubbing the back of his neck. 

“That’s going to hurt tomorrow,” he groans, picking up his boot. “I’ll be heading out too, I need to get ready for tonight, especially if Felix’s hot sister slash friend is going to be there.” He points a finger at Claude. “Make sure you’re there or else I’m making you a dating profile and swiping right on every female within a five mile radius and giving them all your address.” He then promptly takes his leave, not bothering to let him protest. Claude hopes he runs into an undoubtedly still salty Felix in the hall. 

“They’re gone,” Hilda says, tucking her phone away when the door shuts behind Sylvain. “You know what that means.”

Claude leans forward and grabs his laptop, opening it and finding where he left off. “It means I finally get some peace and quiet for once,” he answers, and Hilda immediately shuts his laptop. “Can’t a man do some work in his own apartment?” 

Apparently not, because his laptop is once again taken and placed on the other end of the couch, and Hilda is staring at him intently. “It means that you are going to tell me why you’re still single, but aren’t ready to mingle.” 

“I don’t need anyone,” Claude insists. “I’m fine on my own. I have...things I need to figure out. Things I want to do. Having someone will just slow me down.” It’s not completely a lie, but he needs to give her something to get her off his case. “By the way, did you get what I asked for?” He questions, changing the subject. 

Hilda reaches into her purse, fishing out an unlabelled file folder. Claude eagerly reaches for it, but before he can close his fingers around it, she pulls it back, tutting at him. “Ah, ah, ah, before I hand this over—which was very hard to sneak out of Holst’s office, and copy by the way— I need you to promise me something.” 

Claude can’t hold back a heavy sigh. With Hilda, everything comes at a price. “Anything,” he swears, crossing his heart. “I would do anything for you, milady,” he promises with dramatic flair, bowing slightly for effect. He’s also recently gone to the bank, wholly prepared to pay her price.

Hilda purses her lips together, narrowing her eyes at him. “I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, but alright. Here’s the deal,” she places the tip of her index finger on his chest. “I want you to come out with us tonight and have some fun. I don’t want you to be all weird and stressed for the whole year. Yeah, I know you like working hard, but you need to let loose! Live a little! Maybe even find a little special someone…”

Of course. 

“I don’t need all of that, Hil. I can’t let myself get distracted. I do have a plan, you know.” What that plan is, he doesn’t exactly have to tell her. What’s life without a little mystery? “Besides, I like being single,” he begins counting off reasons on his fingers. “There’s no one to nitpick on me, I get a whole bed to myself and a good night's rest every night, and I can generally do whatever I want, live life at my own pace.” 

“That’s exactly my point though,” she squeezes her eyes shut and rubs her temples as if talking to him is the most difficult thing she’s done all day, which, to her credit, probably is. “First of all, I’m pretty sure this is the same plan as when I first met you five whole years ago.” Before he can defend his plan, she holds a hand up, inhaling deeply. “If it’s been five years, that’s too many details than I care to even try to fathom, so don’t even bother. Second of all, your pace is ‘speeding down the highway with my brakes cut,’ which is why you need to slow it down before you burn out. In all seriousness, Claude, you’re 23. It’s time to settle down and start thinking about what you want to do after this plan of yours, and I swear by the goddess that I’m not letting you end up a sad old cat lady.” 

That gave Claude pause. Not the cat lady bit, but the rest before it. _After_ his plan? He’d honestly never thought of it. He had big dreams, dreams that he had been chasing since relocating to Fodlan for university five years prior. This kind of dream didn’t really accommodate the presence of another person. Since the beginning, he’d been resolved to move forward alone. But was that what he really wanted? A brief image flashes through his mind. His mother and father walking hand in hand along the beaches of Almyra. 

Hm. Maybe, just maybe…

Maybe one day, but not now. Not tonight. 

But he supposed he could make an exception and have fun for one night. “Fine, I’ll mingle,” he agrees, trying his best to downplay his excitement when Hilda hands over the folder, wanting nothing more than for her to leave so he can study its contents. “Now, since I’ve decided to give this whole responsibility thing a try, what do you say we team up and mess with Lorenz one last time?” He suggests. A gesture of good faith. 

Hilda snickers. “You don’t even have to ask,” she says, but her eyes rest on the folder in his hands, and she’s suddenly very serious. “Claude, I know I said I didn’t care, but I know what’s in there. Do you…really want to pull on that thread? Are you absolutely sure you know what you’re doing?” 

Claude knows what’s in here too. If he were being completely honest, he had no idea what he was doing. But when did he ever? “Yes.” 

  
  


~ • ~

  
  


Byleth didn’t mind her parent’s new house. It was everything her mother had ever wanted. The open concept provided plenty of space to entertain and host dinner guests. The large floor to ceiling windows let the golden streams of sunlight brighten up the entire house, instantly uplifting her mood. A beautiful, modern kitchen with marble countertops and new appliances begged to be used. Looking around, she could definitely get used to this. 

“Hey, kid, pass me that box cutter over there.” Byleth, Glenn, and Felix all reach for the same box cutter, locking eyes with one another. The blushing Fraldarius brothers pull back, letting Byleth pick it up and toss it to her father, who catches it and immediately works to open the box containing the wine cooler he had splurged on. 

“How’s it feel to be living with your parents again?” Glenn asks as they carefully unpack her mother’s delicate tea china. Felix, who after setting down a ceramic flowerpot a little too hard, wasn’t to be trusted with fragile objects, and decides to go help Rodrigue bring the couch inside. “It must be weird after living outside of home for so long.”

Byleth shrugs. She supposed it was rather unorthodox to be living with your parents at the age of 25. “It’s just until we’re settled into the city again. Then I’ll find my own place. For now though, it’s not all bad. There’s more pros than cons. Pros,” she begins listing them off on her right hand. “The firm is paying for the house, so I don’t need to pay rent. It’s within walking distance from the university, so i don’t have to spend that much on gas. Also, I get to eat Mom’s cooking every night instead of something that can be cooked in a microwave.” 

Glenn laughs at that, and Byleth finds herself oddly comforted by the sound. It wasn’t until coming back that she realized how much she missed being around him and Felix. Sure, she’d made some good friends during her time in Fhirdiad, but the few weeks they would visit during the summer were some of her favourite memories. Their mothers have been best friends since childhood, and the relationship has since been passed on through their children. 

“I’m not complaining or anything, but why the move back so suddenly?” Glenn asks, pushing a stray lock of dark hair out of his face. “You’ve been in Fhirdiad for nearly seven years now, and you were halfway through law school. I knew your parents were coming, but I honestly didn’t think you would follow.”

Byleth carefully unwraps a teacup, setting it on the table. “When I found out they were moving back here, I put in a transfer to finish my last few years at GMU’s School of Law. It’s the best law school in Fódlan. When they accepted, who was I to refuse? Also, one of the partners at Seiros and Associates does a few lectures at the university, so they helped me get a job as a TA for the semester.” 

“Why would they do that?” Felix questions, setting a heavy looking box of pots and pans on the counter. “No offence or anything, but I don’t see you as the kind and nurturing type.” Byleth knows for a fact that he means that with full offence, but chooses to let it slide for now.

“Probably to convince my dad to come back and work for them. He did leave the firm so he and Mom could move to Faerghus in order to be closer to me while I was in school.” It was true. Byleth, at the time 18 years old and seeking adventure, chose to do her undergrad in the frigid Faerghan capital of Fhirdiad, and her parents had dropped everything to be close to their daughter. They allowed her to explore the responsibilities that came with independence and adulthood, while simultaneously being there for her if she needed them. She loved them for it. 

So, when her dad had said they were moving back to Garreg Mach for work, she, in turn, dropped everything to move back with them when she got accepted into GMU. Plus, the Fraldarius’ were here, and life always seemed to be a little more fun with them around. 

Byleth watches as Felix and Rodrigue butt heads over what angle to position the couch, while Glenn and Ainara carefully arrange her mother’s kitchen cabinets. The Fraldarius’ were an interesting bunch, to say the least. All so similar, but somehow so different. For starters, the men all looked exactly the same. They had the same striking amber eyes set on lean faces, complete with lithe but imposing physical features. Byleth often found herself jealous of their beautiful midnight coloured hair, Rodrigue’s and Glenn’s falling in soft waves, and Felix’s looking smooth as satin. Byleth often longed to run her fingers through it, but she quite enjoyed living. Family resemblance drew the like at Ainara, however, with her fair brown hair and soft blue eyes. Neither of her children seemed to inherit her equally beautiful physical features. 

The Fraldarius name was well known around Fódlan. Hailing from Faerghus, Rodrigue Fraldarius is the CEO of Aegis Shields, a private security company. He provides highly trained military personnel to guard the likes of even Prince Dimitri himself. Glenn, the eldest Fraldarius son, was in line to take over the company, due in no small part to the fact that he had inherited his father’s natural charisma and tactical prowess. They were practically the same person. 

If Byleth had to describe Glenn, it would be easy. He was next to perfect. Kind, handsome, chivalrous, charming, smart, athletic, (not to mention rich). Loves his mother, respects his father. He’s the kind of boy your mother would _want_ you to bring home. He did have a little bit of a protective streak, however. Which mostly likely stemmed from Felix being a big crybaby back in the day, and Byleth picking one too many fights in the schoolyard. 

“Senile already, old man?” Byleth hears Felix sneer to Rodrigue down the hall. “Sitri said she wants it against the window, not facing it.” 

Felix, the littlest Fraldarius— in age _and_ height— is a different story. Take everything you know about Rodrigue and Glenn and toss it out the window, because while he looks like them, Felix acts _nothing_ like them. He’s a little snarky, sometimes grouchy, and very sassy. If you showed Byleth a picture of a mean looking cat and a picture of Felix and asked her to find a difference, she wouldn’t be able to. That being said, once you get to know him, you’ll see that he’s a good guy, and a big softie. You just had to peel back his _many_ layers to see it. 

Byleth didn’t have any siblings, but when she was around these two, she felt like she did. 

“Boys, behave,” Ainara groans tiredly, forever the mediator between her three boys. She shakes her head when Glenn decides to join them and add his two cents. Byleth moves to her side, helping her unpack the rest of the utensils. “Some things never change, huh?” She sighs, and Byleth laughs, nudging her slightly.

“I think I’d be more concerned if they weren’t arguing,” she says, and Ainara hums in agreement. 

If Byleth had to choose a favourite Fraldarius, it would be Ainara. The woman possessed an air of confidence Byleth could only dream of having. Her mother often spoke of how she intimidated other girls in her youth with her sharp wit and sarcastic tongue, and seemed to still have the same effect on grown women. Ainara grips her shoulders, squeezing lightly. “At least now I’ll have you to help keep them in line." 

“Oh, there you are, love,” Her mother’s melodic voice drifts through the air, and Byleth turns to see her standing a few feet behind them. Her dark green hair tied up into a loose ponytail and she's holding a pair of ceramic pots that managed to survive Felix’s grasp. “I’m ready to go, Aina. By, I’m just going to head down to the shop to sign a few papers and do a little bit of work. Make sure the boys don’t break anything, alright?” It's a next to impossible request, but Byleth did enjoy a challenge. 

As soon as they leave, Felix comes up to her as their fathers begin setting up the television. With the couch moved in, they’re probably hoping to watch Fódlan Geographic and drink a few beers before their wives come back. “By,” Felix starts, “So, a friend of mine is having a little get together tonight. He’s okay with you coming, if you want.” 

Byleth blinks at him a few times. “A party? Uh…I don’t know, Fe. We still have a lot of moving in to do, and I need to start looking at the material for the class I’m teaching.” Being unprepared was something that Byleth decidedly did not want to be. 

Jeralt waves a hand at her from behind the television. “Get out of here, kid. Go and have some fun, we’ll be alright here without you for a few hours.” Byleth looks around the living room. Judging from the way the couch doesn’t line up with the rug, and the mirror hangs crooked, they most certainly will _not_ be fine. Why her mother had let them handle the most visible room in the house, she’ll never know. 

“Come on, just one night out, you can meet the rest of my...friends,” Felix insists, but Byleth still isn’t convinced. “They want to meet you. Plus, Ingrid’s going to be there. You like Ingrid.” It’s true enough, she’d met Ingrid a handful of times when she came up for the summer with Glenn, and thoroughly enjoyed her presence.

At the drop of her name, Glenn pokes his head into the room. “Who doesn’t like Ingrid?” He grins, his eyes glimmering with what Ainara describes as his lovesick puppy look. “She’s brilliant, really, smart, beautiful, tough as nails…” Byleth inwardly groans, and Felix doesn’t even bother to hide his annoyance. Hearing him sing her praises was adorable at first. After five years though...

“Shut your mouth, you pathetic sap,” Felix snaps, rolling his eyes. “I can’t even look at her without hearing your stupid voice in my head describing her ‘sea-green eyes.’ What are you? Some kind of erotic novelist?” 

Behind the TV, Rodrigue chokes back a laugh, and her father doesn’t even bother to hide his. 

Like the rest of them, Glenn has long since become desensitized to Felix’s blunt way of speaking, simply throwing an arm around his baby brother and sighing deeply. “When the day comes that your crush likes you back, you’ll understand why I speak so highly of my lovely Ingrid.” 

“Crush?” Byleth repeats, instantly intrigued when Felix’s face turns a deep shade of crimson, fighting to get out of Glenn’s headlock. “Felix, since when did you have a crush?” Who could have Felix Fraldarius so smitten?

“I do not—”

“Since they were kids,” Glenn interrupts, a mischievous grin on his face. “She’ll be at the little get together tonight for sure. You should go meet her.” 

“If you say anything else—” Felix doesn’t get to finish his threat, because Byleth has already made up her mind. 

“I’m going,” she decides, ignoring Felix’s angry sputtering and Glenn’s loud laughter, already marching upstairs to change. 

One night out couldn’t hurt. Just one. 

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT CHAPTER PREVIEW: 
> 
> Byleth ignores the feeling of blood trickling from her nostril as she places a foot on her assailants chest. 
> 
> "Hi," she hears him rasp, flashing her a striking grin to hide his grimace. "I'm Clau-" 
> 
> She cuts him off by applying more pressure, and he winces. "And I'm not interested."


	2. An Unoffcial Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> University is hard, but making friends is harder.

If Claude were being honest, he didn’t find parties completely terrible. People were drunk, lips were loose, and secrets were always revealed. He liked knowing everyone’s secrets. 

“That’s absolutely preposterous,” he exclaims dramatically, and Lysithea nods frantically in agreement. “Then what happened?” He questions, for some reason absolutely enthralled by this story.

The girl waves her arm, alcohol sloshing around in her cup. “She ate it! She actually ate some of my cake! I’d just made it too,” she huffed, sending a pointed glare at her roommate, Annette, who seemed to be deep in conversation with Felix. “Just cause she can’t bake her own cake doesn’t mean she can eat mine!” 

Ah, so good-at-everything Annette can’t bake. Claude adds that to his set of mental notes. He’s not exactly sure what he could do with that information, but who knows? 

“I think that’s enough alcohol for you,” he tells her, easing the cup out of her hand and replacing it with a bottle of water. “Don’t want you to end up without a roommate in the morning.”

“I may not have a roommate but at least I’ll have my cake,” she scoffs in response, uncapping the bottle of water and spinning on her heel, undoubtedly going off to find something sweet to eat. 

“There you are!” Hilda shouts behind him, pushing through the throng of people. “Did you do it,” she asks, grabbing his arm. 

“Of course I did it!” They both look to where Lorenz sits on the couch, his face red and fists clenched tightly in his lap. “Nothing like a good old laxative prank on an old friend. It’s his fault for taking the drink from me. This is probably the tenth time I’ve done this to him.” 

“Ah,” Hilda sighs, smiling at the distressed Lorenz. “Nothing makes me happier than messing with our dear friend.” She sends him an innocent wave when he catches her gaze, realizing just what’s wrong with him when Claude winks.

Hilda and Claude both laugh when Lorenz runs off to the bathroom, pushing past an amused looking Sylvain on his way there. “Anyway, I hope you’re making good on your end of the deal,” Hilda says, leaning against the kitchen counter. “You aren’t drinking, and I haven’t seen you mingling.” 

“I have class tomorrow, Hilda,” he reminds her. His first class was at 10am. Two hours of lecture was already boring enough, but two hours while hungover? Not something he wanted to experience. “Also, I’ve been mingling plenty,” he insists, but Hilda rolls her eyes. “What?”

“When I said mingling, I meant talking up cute partygoers, not coercing secrets out of drunk people,” she deadpans. “Look around you, Claude! The world is your oyster, my little fawn. Take advantage of it while you can, and I don’t mean by digging up dirt on people.”

“Hey! How is that any different from you gossiping all the time? You probably have just as much dirt on everyone here as I do,” when he goes to gesture around the room, he feels the back of his hand smack someone directly in the face. Hilda’s eyes go wide as she gasps, and Claude cringes internally at himself. 

He turns around, seeing a girl clutching her nose, glaring at him. If looks could kill, he’d definitely be dead right now. “Hey,” he says, reaching a hand out to her. “I’m so—”

He’s on the floor before he can finish his sentence.

  
  


~ • ~ 

  
  


When he reaches for her, Byleth grabs his wrist, twisting it so his palm faces upwards and throwing him to the ground.

If she were being completely honest, she didn’t mean to do it. She’d just acted on instinct. Her father had always taught her to act first and ask questions later. This guy had just hit her in the face, for crying out loud. He clearly hadn’t meant to hit her, but she was wholly unprepared, and his backhanded swing was pretty strong.

The man lets out a groan, rolling onto his back and staring up at her, and oddly enough, a mix of adoration and excitement glitters in those beautiful green eyes of his. For some reason, the first thing that goes through her head is the word ‘handsome.’ Which he is, with his neatly groomed facial hair, and sharp jawline. He’s not bad to look at.

But he did just hit her in the face.

Byleth ignores the feeling of blood trickling from her nostril as she places her foot upon her assailants chest.

“Hi,” she hears him rasp flashing her a handsome smile to hide his grimace. “I’m Clau—”

She cuts him off by applying a touch more pressure with her foot, and he winces. “And I’m not interested,” she lies, because truth be told, she kind of is. Looking at him now, her brain tells her that he looks familiar. She’d seen him somewhere before.

Nevertheless, she lifts her foot, and he heaves a sigh of relief, rubbing his chest a little. He wears an amused smile on his face as he studies her. For some reason, his unwavering gaze makes her uncomfortable. She feels he’s evaluating her, sizing her up and already looking past her defences. Byleth offers him her hand, and he immediately takes it, his warm hand enveloping hers. He’s just beginning to rise to his feet when she immediately drops his hand upon the jolt of electricity she feels shoot up her arm when he touches her. One hell of a static shock. 

“I’m sorry,” she mutters when he falls flat on his ass. She doesn’t bother waiting for him to accept though, pushing through the crowd until she finds Felix, grasping the back of his shirt and pulling him away from the red headed girl that he’s been chatting chatting with all night. “We have to go,” she whispers urgently in his ear, looking around nervously.

He leans back to look her over, wide-eyed when he grasps her shoulders. “Wha—Why are you bleeding?” He asks, and Byleth swipes the blood away with the sleeve of her shirt. 

“I kind of did something and we need to leave,” she admits, but Felix doesn’t move an inch. “Can we please just go?” She groans, looking over his shoulder to see _him_. 

Nope, nope, _nope_. 

He doesn’t look angry, but he’s making a beeline for them, mouth open like he’s going to say something, but Byleth is way too embarrassed to hear it. She tears her gaze away from him, briskly making her way to the exit and ducking under Sylvain’s arm before he can stop her with another cheesy pick-up line. “I’m leaving with or without you, Felix,” she calls over her shoulder, silently hoping that it’s with. They’d walked here, and Byleth has no idea how to get home. Luckily, she hears him grumble in response and she smiles when he’s soon at her side, long legs easily matching her quick pace. 

Her nose throbs as she makes her quick getaway, Felix still hot on her heels, demanding to know what’s happened. It was only then that Byleth was beginning to realize she was wrong. 

One night out could absolutely hurt. 

  
  
  


__________

“You kids came home earlier than I expected last night. It was hardly midnight,” her mother says when Byleth saunters down into the kitchen the next morning in search of coffee and breakfast.

“I thought you were asleep,” Byleth frowns, immediately grabbing the coffee pot and filling a nearby mug. She was lucky she’d avoided her parents last night. If they had seen her holding a bag of frozen peas to her nose, there would have been too many questions, especially from her father. 

“You may be 25, but as long as you’re living under my roof, I’ll always stay awake until you get home.” Byleth gives her a quick peck on the cheek, which she accepts gratefully. Her mother is adorable. “Also, your father had a few beers last night, so he was snoring quite loudly.” Byleth hums in agreement over the rim of her mug, sipping on the nectar of the gods until she feels a little more alive. Her mother suddenly grabs her face in one hand, peering closely at her face. “Oh dear. What happened to your nose?”

Byleth twists out of her hands. “Would you believe me if I said I ran into a door?”

“I’m a lawyer, Byleth, I can smell a lie from a mile away,” her father’s voice interrupts behind her, still rough from sleep. Lovely. “What happened to your nose, kid? You were lucky enough to get your mother’s nose, don’t ruin it.” 

People had always praised Byleth for her honesty, but in reality, she’d never been able to sell a lie with parents like hers. It was just better to tell the truth. “Someone hit me in the face last night. It was an accident,” she admits, working hard to avoid his inquisitive stare

Her mother looks mildly horrified at the revelation, but her father just chuckles over his cup. “Did you hit them back?” Sitri swats him with a rolled-up newspaper. 

“Wrist throw,” Byleth shrugs, no longer able to hide her smile at her father's obvious amusement. 

“By the Goddess, Byleth,” Sitri sighs, but her father grins, holding his hand up for a high-five when Sitri turns her back. 

They’re in the middle of making breakfast when the doorbell rings, and the three Eisner’s freeze in place. Their gazes flick between each other and the front door. They’d just moved in yesterday, who could possibly be looking for them at this hour?

Jeralt eventually takes one for the team and reluctantly moves to answer the door. Her and Sitri peek around the corner, watching as Jeralt opens the door to reveal a tall, green-haired man. He passes her father a folder, but Byleth can’t hear what he says before Jeralt shuts the door, a sombre look on his face as he strides up the stairs. “I’ll be in the study,” he calls down to them, and Sitri presses a tray into Byleth’s hands. 

“Bring this to your father. I think he’ll be needing it.” She nods, carefully balancing the tray of scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee as she treads up the stairs to the study. Byleth knocks on the door, hearing his gruff voice telling her to enter.

“Dad?” She asks, peeking through the door before stepping inside. The walls are still bare, boxing pushed around haphazardly to clear a path from the door to the desk. At the centre of this small room of madness, Jeralt is looking down his nose at the papers sprawled out on the desk. Byleth slowly navigates small amounts of free space on the floor before setting the try down on an empty corner of his desk. “What are you looking at?” 

Jeralt doesn’t look up, but she catches the slight wrinkle in his forehead as he frowns. “You know that business with Lord Lonato’s son, Christophe?” Of course she does. Who doesn’t? A few years ago, Christophe Lonato was convicted on charges of conspiracy in regards to the Tragedy of Duscur. She distinctly remembered her father and Rodrigue strongly disagreeing on the conviction. They’d known Christophe since he was a boy. They’d remained adamant that the man he’d grown up to become had no reason to one day up and participate in the slaughter of his country’s king. Consider her interest piqued.

“The firm’s PI has recently come across some—” Jeralt cuts himself off, sighing as he shuts the file, then locking it in the safe under his desk. “Can’t tell you, kid. It’s confidential.” When Byleth doesn’t reply, he picks up the mug of coffee, taking a sip. His face wrinkles in disgust as he groans. “No cream? Your mother is cutting all my favourite things out of my diet.” 

“Sugars, saturated fats, and carbs you mean?” Byleth teases. “I mean, your gut has been looking a little full there lately, Dad,” she adds, pointing to his slightly protruding stomach. 

“Gut? What gut?” He questions with a deep frown. 

“The little pouch where you keep your extra cookies, Jeralt.” Her mother’s amused voice answers from the hall.

Her father trudges out of his study, mug of black coffee clenched in one fist. “Living with two women again will be the death of me,” he mumbles, leaving Byleth alone in the room. 

She springs into action, shoving the desk chair aside and immediately punching in the passcode to the safe. She’s well aware of the shit-eating grin on her face when it pops open. The password is her and her mother’s days of birth. “So predictable,” she murmurs, pulling out her phone and snapping a few photos of the contents within the Seiros and Associates file to read over later. 

Ever since the arrest of Christophe Lonato, rumours as to why he may have participated have spread like wildfire. Byleth was never one to put much stock into baseless rumours, but she had to admit there were some things about the whole case that just…didn’t make sense. There was no decisive or solid motive. In her eyes, there hadn’t been sufficient evidence to have him so readily convicted. Byleth had no personal ties to this case— she hadn’t known Christophe well enough, but there was an air of uncertainty and mystery attached to it, and she did enjoy unraveling a good mystery. 

She once again locks the safe, and tucks her phone into her pocket before rejoining her parents in the kitchen. A light thrum of excitement slowly seeps through her veins, a feeling she knows will soon readily consume her as she delves deeper and deeper into this mystery. The beginning of her little investigation will have to happen later, because when she checks her watch she realizes that she has class in about an hour

  
  


~ • ~

  
  


Claude had always found Monday mornings to be colder than any other given day. Perhaps it’s the autumn chill present in the mountain airs of Garreg Mach, or simply the fact that the weekend solitude has come to an end.

He feels a dull throb of pain pulse through the back of his neck, and he resists the urge to rub it for the eighth time before class even starts. A great addition to his Monday morning blues. 

In an attempt to distract himself, Claude looks around the room at the few other students gathered in the lecture hall for Criminal Law 1001. He’s placed himself in the middle row, where he’s close enough to follow along adequately, but far enough to still do his own thing and watch those around him. They still have about ten minutes before class begins, yet there seem to be other sets of bright eyes and bushy tails here. Now, Claude was by no means one of them, but he liked to be early to scope out those who were. He was here early to familiarize those he needed to keep tabs on if he wanted to come out on top. 

He knows who to look at immediately, faces instantly recognizable in the front row. Prince Dimitri of Faerghus sits on the edge, and Princess Edelgard of Adrestia occupies the middle row, notes set in pristine order in front of her. 

Claude lets out a puff of air, shaking his head slightly. If he recalls the...research he’d done on the royals before arriving in Fódlan, those two are another story. Entirely. Perhaps it’s best not to associate. He looks up in time to see Dimitri watching the Imperial princess out of the corner of his eye, and catches Edelgard pretending not to notice.

Interesting. 

Dimitri doesn’t steal another glance, and Edelgard doesn’t acknowledge him until the professor arrives. Claude is more than ready to start, the pencil he’d been absentmindedly twirling stops, lead tip already pressed to his paper. “Good morning,” the green-haired professor greets the room of tired looking students, his lecture slides already up on the projector. “If you haven't already gathered from the syllabus I posted online, my name is Seteth, and I’ll be your professor for Criminal Law 1001. Now, if you’ll follow along…”

Claude doesn’t have to follow along to know he’s talking about rules and expectations. You can eat, but clean up after yourself. Phones off. No cheating. Easy enough to follow. 

The door to the side of the hall on his left opens, and Claude hears heels click against the floor. Their owner’s pace is steady and sure despite the fact that they’re ten minutes late on the first day of class. 

Claude looks up to see who the first object of their professor’s distaste will be, seeing a girl with dark blue hair claiming a spot awkwardly standing at Seteth’s side. She looks kind of familiar.

Oh. 

_Oh._

_Oh no._

“Oh,” he says out loud, interrupting Seteth mid-explanation. All heads swivel around to look at him as if he’s interrupted a priest during mass. Dimitri shoots him a confused look, and Edelgard looks like she’ll kill him for wasting her precious class time. “Sorry,” he apologizes, locking eyes with the girl who had thrown him to the ground last night. 

She stares back at him, open and unashamed. It’s definitely her. The slight bruising on the bridge of her nose gives it away.

“This is your TA,” Seteth announces, gesturing to the girl. “Byleth? Why don’t you share a bit about yourself?” 

She breaks their uncomfortable stare first, the look on her face saying she’d rather not share and climb under the desk instead. “My name is Byleth Eisner. I’m a third year law student. You’ll find my contact information, office, and office hours in the syllabus. I’ve posted the material I want to cover in our first tutorials, which start next week.” 

_Eisner_ , Claude repeats in his head this time. It sounds familiar, but he can’t place where he’s heard it. He looks at her again, and she’s once again watching him. Under her gaze, he feels oddly exposed, and he doesn't like it one bit. Claude touches the back of his neck, and even from the distance, he catches her narrow her eyes at him, rubbing the bridge of her nose. It’s the same dangerous look she gave him before tossing him onto the floor.

The royals aren’t the only thing that will make this an interesting semester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, Jeralt asks his wife if she thinks his body is past its prime, and Sitri laughs a little too hard before saying no.


	3. An Official Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude meets his match, and Felix wonders why his friends don't let him finish his sentences.

The first thing Claude does when the lecture ends is immediately start investigating. He couldn’t help it. Her stare has unnerved his very being, a feat not so easily achieved by a stranger. He had to know who exactly this woman was, and why he felt so… oddly drawn to her presence. He figures social media is a good place to start. With a name like “Byleth Eisner” the search was guaranteed to be shorter than usual. 

Within minutes, Claude comes across her profile. It’s not like most he’s come across. It lacks a profile picture, consisting of only a cover photo of a rather serene looking snapshot of what Claude assumes is Lake Teutates. The information she’s shared about herself is suspiciously limited. She did an undergrad in Fhirdiad, is currently at Garreg Mach University’s School of Law, and she’s vaguely listed Faerghus as her place of birth. 

There’s no work experience, no birthday, not even a relationship status. Her social media presence is oddly muted in comparison to, say, Hilda or Sylvain, who often seem eager to share the daily happenings of their lives with the entire Internet. 

While he doesn’t necessarily agree with the over-sharing that is associated with social media, even Claude isn’t this disconnected. He keeps a well maintained media presence, if only to stay in the loop and keep tabs on whoever he so pleases. 

He scrolls down her page. Unsurprisingly, she isn’t the type to post updates, share articles, or even type up a birthday message to a friend, which he can see she has exactly 73 of. She has posted a single photo, however. It’s a mysterious shot of a man sitting on a fishing boat, sporting a fishing vest and hat, despite the fact that the sky is overcast and there’s a thin layer of fog shrouding the lake. There’s no caption, nothing but a single tag to indicate who this person is to her.

Jeralt Eisner.

Claude has always thought himself to be two steps ahead of his peers, but even Sylvain could have figured this one out with the right amount of information. Especially if that information consisted of what Claude had in his head. He should have realized it sooner, really. She’s from Faerghus, she’s a law student, and the professor she works under is Seteth. It all points to how exactly he recognized her last name. 

Her father is  _ the _ Jeralt Eisner. 

In Fódlan’s political landscape, the name “Jeralt Eisner” was a well-known one. Seiros and Associates cutthroat attorney, representing clients ranging from the likes of the Church of Seiros to the various disputes within the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. A man with connections around Fódlan that Claude could only dream of one day weaving himself into. 

Quickly shutting his phone off, Claude shoves it into his pocket when someone slides onto the bench across from him at the picnic table he occupies in the university courtyard. He’ll have to look through the list of her 73 friends later tonight. “Good afternoon,” Claude greets, and Felix, in return, grunts behind his cup of coffee, not looking up from his textbook. Claude peers down at the pictures of muscle and bone, immediately uninterested at seeing what lies beneath his skin. “Right. Rough first day?”

“Not especially,” he replies with a shrug, still not looking up. Trying for conversation with Felix is like trying to converse with a brick wall. 

“I saw Dimitri today,” he tries, pulling out a notebook and flipping to a page of hastily scrawled notes on the different natures of criminal law. Normally his notes were slightly more legible, but he had been a little distracted. Checking his watch, he has about two hours before his next lecture, so he might as well try to get some of it straightened out instead of 

A scoff. “Didn’t know they still let boars go to school here.” It’s a bold comment to make about the prince, a comment that only Felix Fraldarius would dare to make. Normally, Claude would have wanted to unpack a statement like that, but you can’t tear a brick wall down with just your hands. He’ll come back to it with a hammer and chisel another time.

So, he moves on. “Funny story,” he starts, and while Felix still looks uninterested, his sigh is heavy with annoyance, indicating Claude wasn’t being completely ignored, but is likely on pretty thin ice. “So, I accidentally hit a girl in the face last night, and she kind of threw me to the ground.” 

Maybe it’s the mention of a fight that catches Felix’s attention, because he finally looks up, and the annoyed scowl has turned into a deep frown. “A girl?” He repeats, and Claude reaches into his bag for his notebook as he nods. 

“Yes. Anyway, I tried to catch up to her to apologize, but she ran off before I could even get her name. Life is funny though, because it turns out she’s my criminal law TA. I actually have a bit of her info on my phone.” He fishes his phone out of his pocket and pulls up the syllabus. “Her name is a bit unusual so bear with me—” 

“Byleth Eisner?” Felix finishes before Claude can. “Blue hair, unfortunately around my height, has a stare so unsettling that it could kill a man?” Claude leans back on the bench squinting down his nose at this person who could possibly be his friend. It’s a scarily accurate description, with an alarming amount of detail unusual for Felix ‘I only study people to judge their workout routines’ Fraldarius.

“Yeah...How’d you know?” As far as he knew, there was no way Felix’s schedule would cross with that of a law student.

“How does he know Byleth?” Brilliant. Sylvain has arrived just in time to add his two cents, dropping into the space beside Felix. “That’s the family friend that Felix was talking about the other day. How do you know her?” 

“I hit her in the face at your stupid party—I knew going was a bad idea, by the way—and I just found out she’s my TA,” Claude explains once again. The more he hears it, the more he realizes the true severity of the situation. If she’s still pissed about it, it could lead to a few uncomfortable encounters for the remainder of the semester. 

Sylvain throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, no wonder she took off in a hurry! At least I had the chance to meet her last night, she’s nice. Has an even nicer body though—” He’s cut off by a sharp jab to his shoulder. 

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” Felix scowls, shaking his fist at Sylvain. “She’s my friend!” 

Claude lets out an exasperated sigh. Oh. Great. Not only did he hit his TA in the face, but she’s also Felix’s longtime friend? Jeralt Eisner’s daughter? Sometimes it was like the goddess of this wild country  _ wanted _ him to hurt. “What do I do now? I don’t want her to hold a grudge against me the whole year.” Criminal law was one of the five credit classes that spanned the course of a full school year, making up a big chunk of his GPA. He couldn’t afford to have his TA not like him, especially when she was the one marking his tests and running his tutorials.

“Byleth isn’t the type to hold grudges,” Felix informs them as Sylvain rubs his shoulder with a pout. “But you’re definitely on her radar now.” 

Claude straightens. “Is that a good thing?” Going off their recent track record, however, he doesn’t think so.

“Depends on what you do about it now,” Felix shrugs, and Sylvain flinches.

Claude rips a page out of his notebook. “Can you tell me anything about her? Likes? Dislikes? Why she came to Garreg Mach in the first place?” Claude could basically hear Judith calling him out on his lack of tact. 

Luckily, his friends don’t seem to notice. “She likes flowers and fitness,” Felix answers. “She came because Jeralt was asked to come back to work for Seiros and Associates.” 

Now that caught Claude’s attention. Jeralt coming back to work for the most prestigious law firm in all of Fódlan? After retiring without explanation a few years ago? Thinking on it, the fact did explain how his daughter had landed a difficult third-year law transfer and obtained a sought after part time job within the faculty. Seteth, who she now worked under, is a partner at the firm. He most definitely pulled some strings to earn Jeralt’s favour and bring him back. But why? Why go to such lengths to get him out of retirement so suddenly?

Claude didn’t exactly know what was going on there, but what he did know was that he definitely had to get on Byleth’s good side. 

He thought of the folder Hilda had given him, tucked safely between the pages of his hefty Torts textbook. This could be his chance at a breakthrough in the stalemate plaguing his research. To have an in at Seiros and Associates...

Oh, he definitely needed to be on her good side. 

“I need to pay Ainara a visit at the shop,” he decides, hastily gathering his stuff together and shoving it into his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. 

Felix’s eyes widen. “Wait, Claude, her—” He’s too late though, because Claude is already turning away, his mind set on heading over to Fraldarius Blooms before his next class.

“No time! Talk to you guys later!” 

He has a woman to win over.

  
  
  


__________

  
  
  


Claude slaps a fifty dollar bill on the counter before turning around to study the different flowers on display in the shop. He hears footsteps shuffle behind him. “Hey, Ainara. How do I say ‘I’m sorry I hit you in the face, please don’t fail me’ in flower?” He whirls around, and the woman watching him with a smile is definitely  _ not _ Ainara. “Oh, sorry about that, I thought you were someone else.” 

The woman—“Sitri,” her name tag reads—waves her gloved hand dismissively, shaking her head slightly. “No problem, dear,” she laughs, walking around the counter to stand at his side. “Ainara is out right now, I’d be glad to help you out, if you don’t mind.” 

“By all means,” Claude nods enthusiastically, watching as she collects several fresh blooms. He doesn’t know much about flowers, other than which ones crush into the right poisons, so he’s glad to have the help. 

“You seem to be comfortable around Ainara,” Sitri says as her deft hands work to clear the stems of leaves and thorns, carefully setting them aside. “Do you come in here often?” 

“I’m friends with her son, Felix,” he answers, and she nods, humming quietly as she examines a simple glass vase. “And you? I know Ainara wouldn’t leave just anyone in charge of her shop, and I haven’t seen you around before.” 

“I’m an old friend of hers,” she replies slowly, holding up a few flowers for him to see. Claude thinks there’s more to the story, but chooses not to ask. “Are you familiar with flowers and their meanings?” Claude shakes his head no. “I see. The meanings behind flowers are diverse, but the sentiments behind them remain the same. The different colours combined with the type of bloom make for unique kinds of messages. Take this tulip, for example.” She holds up a delicate looking white tulip, spinning it’s stem between her thumb and forefinger. “White flowers can symbolize and convey sympathy, forgiveness. Tulips are also spring blooms, marking new beginnings as we enter a new year of warmth within a new season following the chill of winter. They’re quite happy flowers.” 

“Here we have a day lily. Quite a lovely bloom, no? I adore yellow lilies like this one. In fact, my husband gave one to me the day we met. Yellow is a colour associated with joy and happiness, and the lily represents new friendship.” She carefully arranges the flowers in the vase, adding in some simple greenery and what she tells him is called ‘baby’s breath.’ A beautiful bouquet of gentle white and vibrant yellow is presented to him, the smile on her face triumphant as he examines it in awe. “May I ask who it’s for?” 

There’s no harm in the nice flower lady knowing. “A friend of Felix’s, actually. We kind of got off on the wrong foot the other night, and I wanted to find a nice way to apologize. Felix  suggested flowers, so here I am.” 

Sitri, for some reason, smiles even brighter, her green eyes seeming to sparkle for a moment before she blinks up at him. “Well, I’m certain she’ll love it. In fact,” she slides the fifty back across the counter to him. “This one is on us.” 

“Oh, no, I can’t accept that,” he says, pushing it back. “Ma’am, I don’t know if Ainara likes me  _ that _ much.” 

She wraps a golden ribbon around the vase, smiling softly, her steady gaze fixed on his face. “Believe me, I’m sure she won’t mind.” 

  
  
  


__________

  
  
  


The door is slightly ajar when Claude arrives at his destination. Knocking anyways would be the polite thing to do, but not knocking is the best way to learn what people are hiding.

Claude pushes the door open, and Byleth scrambles at her desk, quickly sweeping a pile of textbooks over the papers she was reading in a panic. Claude keeps her eyes on his face, pretending not to notice the papers. “You,” she says when she looks up at him, eyes already narrowed as she rises from her seat. 

“Me,” he grins, inviting himself in and setting the bouquet on the corner of her desk. “Your nose is looking a little crooked there, Teach. I could hit you in the face again to straighten it.” 

She doesn’t laugh at his joke, and Claude mentally crosses out humour as one of his tactics in breaking the ice. Instead, she actually scowls at him, and Claude believes without an inch of a doubt that this is in fact Felix’s friend. That also means that this is going to be harder than he thought. “I came to apologize for hitting you in the face the other night. It was an accident, I swear.” 

She seems taken aback by this, and he slides the bouquet closer to her. “Okay…I suppose I should also apologize for, uh...you know.” 

“For throwing me to the floor?”

Her left eye twitches, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “Yes.” He waits for the apology, but it doesn’t come.

“That wasn’t an apology,” he teases, and she rolls her eyes, an annoyed groan slipping past her lips. 

“Neither was yours.” Point taken. Neither of them had actually said the words, and the stretch of silence that followed made it increasingly clear that neither of them actually intended to. 

“True,” he nods, holding his hands up in surrender. “What if we said it at the same time?” He suggests. “On the count of three, we both say ‘I’m sorry.’ Ready?” She nods, and Claude begins to count. “Okay. One, two, three.”

Silence lays thick in the room as they stare at one another. 

“Okay, now I’m just disappointed in both of us,” he sighs, because he was sure that would have worked. 

“Do you need something?” She questions sharply. “Or is annoying people the one thing you’re good at?” 

“Ouch,” he winces, feigning hurt. “Verbally and physically abusing your student? Not a good start to the year, Teach.” 

“Don’t call me that,” she sighs, shaking her head.  _ No comeback for the abuse thing, I see.  _

He laughs, smiling as she watches him with a wary eye. “What, Teach? Technically you are my Teach, unfortunate as that may be for both of us right now.” 

“Mmhm,” she hums in agreement, a displaced look on her face. Getting onto her good side will prove harder than he anticipated. 

He takes a seat at the edge of her desk. “What do you say we start over, for real, this time? I won’t report you for theft of confidential information, and you drop the obvious grudge you have against me.” 

If she’s at all panicked by this, she doesn’t show it. One hell of a poker face, this one has. “What are you talking about?” 

“The documents you’re hiding.” He gestures to the pile of books on her desk. “I’m not blind, the Seiros and Associates watermark can be recognized from a mile away, even on a copy. It isn’t even redacted, so whatever’s on those papers isn’t for public eyes. It’s unreleased information. Why else would you have covered it up when I came in?” 

To his surprise, she calmly walks around her desk to the door, shutting it forcefully before spinning on her heel and glaring at him. He fully expects her to get down on her hands and knees and beg for his forgiveness, but once again, he senses that he’s about to be disappointed. “That’s rich, coming from you,” she snorts, and his smug expression threatens to turn confused. 

“Uh...come again?”

She points to his messenger bag. “If I open that right now, will I find only textbooks, or will I also find something from the Locket, Fódlan’s main surveillance centre, the one in Leicester?” 

Claude does his best not to let the smile slip off his lips, but can’t stop his face from blanching slightly. He’d snuck a peek at the files to confirm something during lecture, and hadn’t noticed her slip from the front of the room until it was too late. He hadn’t thought she’d seen anything, but apparently he’d had them out and visible for a split second too long. 

Sharp eyes, this one also had. 

“Fair point,” he concedes with a sigh. What does he do now? This had definitely  _ not _ been part of the plan, so it was time to improvise. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he tries with a sly smile and a wink. If only Sylvain could hear him now. 

She draws in a sharp breath, her face scrunching. “Yeah, I don’t think so. How about we cut a deal instead?” 

Claude leans closer to her, and takes a few steps back. “I’m listening.” He isn’t about to have Jeralt Eisner suing him. 

“Clean slate, we forget everything up to this moment. No one reports anything, no one holds any grudges, we go on with our lives,” she shrugs, hand outstretched. “Deal?” 

_ This woman plays a mean game, _ he quickly realizes. He’d be an idiot not to shake on this one, so he takes her hand, giving it a firm shake. “Deal.” She drops his hand, sweeping her books aside and settling herself into her seat. She stuffs the confidential copies into a drawer. He’ll just sneak into her office and read them some other time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sitri comes home and tells Jeralt that a nice boy bought their daughter flowers today, and Jeralt immediately calls Rodrigue and tells him they need to start working out again while looking for his old fencing sword.


	4. It’s Only Illegal if You Get Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude is halfway to his dream of being a criminal lawyer. He just needs to get the lawyer part down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Claudeleth Week!

“You want me to go out for lunch with you?” Byleth repeats, making sure she’s heard the girl who had shown up—without appointment— in her office on a lazy Friday afternoon. She had been in the middle of finalizing next week’s first lesson plan, but the girl had convinced her that she wished to discuss urgent matters. “This doesn’t exactly seem urgent,” she adds, watching as the girl lounges in the seat across from her, lazily examining her nails. 

“Of course it is,” she nods enthusiastically, her thousand-watt smile near blinding. “It’s urgent because I heard you’re new to town, and haven’t been shown around yet. Consider this a welcome from your new best friend!” 

“I…” Byleth blinks, reaching for a name in the depths of her mind, but coming up empty. The girl’s smile doesn’t fade as she awaits a reply, perfectly manicured pink nails patiently tapping the surface of her desk. “I’m sorry but— who are you?” Hopefully this isn’t one of her students. 

That seems to do it, because her eyes widen and her mouth falls open for a moment. “Felix didn’t tell you about me? Oh, I’m going to kill him…” 

_She’s Felix’s friend?_ Byleth gives the girl a quick once-over while she continues to mutter, trying her best to remember the names of the friends he’d complained about constantly. Looking at her, this is the complete opposite of who she would expect Felix to have as a friend. Bright personality, very friendly, talks a lot— “Wait,” she realizes abruptly. “You’re Hilda, aren’t you?” 

Her face lights up, and the bright smile returns immediately at the mention of her name. “Hilda Valentine Goneril! I knew you’d remember my name, because who wouldn’t, really?” She leans forward in her seat, and Byleth instinctively leans back. 

Goneril. Of course she’s a Goneril. She’s familiar with the name, her family’s reputation as directors and heads of the Locket preceding her. Known for their smooth tongues and unmatched ability to gain intelligence, the agents in her father and brother’s employ are not those to be trifled with. The networks they work reach even the darkest corners of Fódlan, with some even rumoured to be rooted within the palace of the Almyran monarch.

“What do you say? Lunch? I know a perfect spot a couple minutes away from here.” 

Byleth is about to refuse, but her stomach betrays her with a _perfectly_ timed grumble, and she checks her watch. It’s half past two, and she still hasn’t eaten lunch. She supposes a quick bite before her next lecture wouldn’t hurt. 

She isn’t sure if she wants to grab one with Hilda, though. Something is going on here, she can feel it. 

Her stomach grumbles louder this time, loud enough for Hilda to hear, who raises a brow expectantly. “Well? Are we getting food or are we sitting around and listening to your stomach start to eat itself?” 

Byleth thinks carefully before she answers, suddenly very aware of the illegal copies of the documents she had hiding in her desk drawer. Could this have something to do with that? Why else was a Goneril asking to dine with her out of the blue? 

Maybe she should find out. 

Byleth grabs her purse, sweeping some papers over the conspicuous file, shutting the drawer and locking it, sliding the key into her pocket. “Let’s go.” 

  
  
  


__________

  
  
  


Hilda doesn’t stop talking the entire way to their destination. Even as they enter the classy-looking café and scan through their menus, her voice doesn’t ebb one bit. In the past few minutes, Byleth has learned more about someone than she thought possible in such a short outing. Hilda is open with sharing the details of her life, suspiciously so, despite the fact that Byleth is a stranger. 

At 22 years old, Hilda has forged a path vastly different from her father and brother, instead following in her mother’s footsteps. Though she calls herself extremely ‘selective’ on her tasks — Byleth knows she means lazy — she wields two college diplomas, one in fashion design, and another in fashion arts and business. Lately, she’s been working closely under her mother at their little boutique, Valentine Vogue, to rework her designs, build her network and find her niche. The whole time, she gushes about her family, insisting that Byleth _must_ meet them. 

Byleth eyes Hilda over her menu as she speaks of her latest romantic endeavours, only partly listening. It isn’t that Byleth doesn’t like her — she hasn’t given her a reason not to — it’s simply that her perceived sweetness is too cloying. Just moments before, she’d twirled a loose strand of pink hair around her finger and batted her lashes up at the host, getting them a table instead of waiting fifteen minutes to be seated. Byleth has only known Hilda for a handful of minutes, but she already knows that it’s the kind of sweet that is saccharine and undoubtedly fake, weaponized to disarm and manipulate. 

When Hilda catches her staring, she simply winks, and Byleth looks down and pretends to be intrigued with the menu. What she wants from Byleth, she hasn’t been able to figure out yet, but she feels she may soon enough. 

“So,” Hilda starts after the waiter has taken their order, “how are you settling down in Garreg Mach?” Byleth is initially surprised by the question, they’d spent the last twenty minutes talking about her, after all.

“Good,” she replies, taking a sip of water. She has to tread carefully. 

Across from her, Hilda leans forward, nodding. “Is it true your parents moved here too? I just heard from Felix.” 

“Yes,” she confirms, and Hilda appears to be waiting for more, but what is there to tell?

“How are you finding law school?” 

“Fine,” she answers stiffly, checking her watch. It’s only been three minutes. Unbelievable. 

Hilda seems to be watching the clock too, checking her phone for the third time since they’ve sat down, her posture slouching slightly when she comes to the same conclusion. “I have a friend in his first year. Maybe you know him?” 

There’s hundreds of students in the faculty, it’s possible, but it’s unlikely she would know any first year students outside of those assigned to her section of tutorials. “Maybe.” 

Hilda huffs impatiently, a momentary break in her sickly sweet facade. “You don’t talk much, do you? Aren’t teachers supposed to be more…I don’t know, sociable?” 

Byleth shrugs. All things considered, this is starting to feel less like a casual outing and more like an interrogation. “I answered your questions, didn’t I? What more do you require?” 

Hilda doesn’t seem to have a rebuttal prepared, sighing deeply before placing an elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand. “People ask questions to urge discussion. We’re supposed to be conversing. That is how one typically makes friends.” 

“I suppose it is,” Byleth relents, but she’s done with toeing the line. “If we’re to be friends, do you mind if I ask a question of my own?” 

“Please! Ask me anything,” Hilda says with an overeager grin. “I’m an open book.” 

More like a study website that requires a paid subscription to read past the first paragraph of information. “Why are you talking to me?” 

A frown. Byleth has caught her off guard. “Come again?” 

“Why are you talking to _me_?” She repeats, continuing before Hilda has a chance to speak. “You don’t really expect me to believe that you came all the way to campus just to talk to someone you hardly know? Hilda, you aren’t even a student, you said so yourself.” 

The frown slowly dissipates, the corners of her lips curling upwards in a sly smile. “You really are Felix’s friend, huh? So defensive…” She murmurs, using the metal straw to slowly stir the iced tea around in her glass. “Before I incriminate myself, counselor, why don’t you tell me why you think you’re here?” 

“Easy,” Byleth replies. “You’re not here for a social visit, seeing how we quite literally just met, but you don’t seem to want something specific from me either. Your questions are surface level, not probing. Your speech is animated, but your body language suggests that you’re equally as uninterested in me as I am in you.” 

Hilda lifts a finely plucked brow in response to the astute observation. Byleth had never been one to pull her punches or mince her words. “I wouldn’t say I’m uninterested in you, specifically. On the contrary, I’m very interested — Felix hasn’t introduced us to a girl before. If I seem uninterested, it’s probably because you haven’t proved a great conversationalist, and nothing gets me going like a juicy gossip session.” 

Byleth crosses her arms over her chest when she senses a shift in Hilda’s disposition. Gone is the air of nonchalance and girlish whimsy. This Hilda is much more serious. For the first time, she seems honest enough. She supposes it’s a believable reason to meet someone. She was new, a friend of her friend, and she wanted to meet her. The only question was why _now_? “Alright.”

Hilda squints, as if sizing her up. “That’s it? No follow up? Or are you really so uninterested in me that you don’t care?” 

Byleth reviews the last few minutes. There were some things that didn’t make sense. Hilda, who proclaimed that she didn’t like unnecessary work, had gone out of her way to meet her and take her out for lunch. She’d done this despite the fact that it was nearly three in the afternoon, past when any normal person who wasn’t stuck in class all day would have intended to eat. Suddenly, the answer is clear as day. “It sounds odd, but I think you’re trying to distract me.” 

Hilda stops her stirring. “Why would I do that?” 

“I don’t know,” Byleth answers truthfully. “I just...I have a feeling.” 

  
  
  


~•~

  
  
  
  


With a final twist, pull, and a satisfying pop, the pins he had borrowed from Hilda successfully unlock the door. Claude pushes it open, the action accompanied by the painfully loud creak of its hinges. He looks left, then right, ensuring no one is around before slipping inside, shutting the door as carefully behind him as he can manage. Leaving the lights off, he pulls out the small flashlight he keeps on his key ring. It provides him with just enough light to examine the room. 

It’s surprisingly bare, despite the full week it’s been since she’s occupied it. There are no trinkets scattered over the desktop, the only furniture inhabiting the cramped office space is the standard desk, office chair, and two seats for students to sit across from her. The room lacks any personal touches. 

“How boring,” he mutters, moving behind her desk and trying the top drawer. It’s locked, of course, and definitely where she would keep her stolen files, assuming they weren’t on her person. So he once again breaks out the trusty bedazzled hair pins that have now been bent out of shape, the jewels reflecting the light cast by his flashlight, casting a colourful aura across the darkened room as he works them into the lock. 

One might ask why Claude was breaking into his TA’s office. The official reason of course, was simply that he wasn’t. Even he couldn’t conjure upvalid reasoning, but he was sure that no one would catch him during these hours. The offices in this hall were reserved for the TA’s, who almost rarely occupied them during the first week of school, and those who did were likely out getting a later lunch or sitting in lectures of their own. 

The unofficial reason was that he knew she was hiding something. Claude’s one weakness was that when he caught wind of a mystery, he would stop at nothing to unravel it.

Even if that meant doing some good ol’ B&E. It’s only illegal if you get caught, right? And Claude did not intend to.

The lock is surprisingly malleable, clicking open on his first attempt. For once, he’s grateful for the old timey structure of the university — it meant the locks were easy to pick. Claude slides the drawer open, shifting aside loose papers and opening every file, looking for that familiar watermark. 

_There._ The papers were laid in an inconspicuous folder, the fifth one he had opened, the watermark of the ancient Crest of Seiros splayed out on the page. His eyes scanned the page. The print job was grainy at best, and it was obvious that these were a printed copy of a picture, something snapped hastily on a phone. Of course she wouldn’t be stupid enough to steal actual legal files. 

The files he had borrowed from the Locket weigh heavy in his bag.

At the top of the page he recognized the name of Christophe Lonato, the recently convicted son of a minor lord in Faerghus. The rest was numbers, and he quickly deduced that this was, in fact, a bank statement. 

Claude immediately drops the papers, letting them flutter onto the desk in a heap. He wasn’t an idiot, he’d followed the Lonato prosecution along with the rest of Fódlan, and had been just as baffled by the conviction. This wasn’t just information Byleth had been lucky enough to stumble upon, this was information thought to be ‘ _missing_ ,’ the unofficial word to cover for the words ‘destroyed’ or, better yet, ‘buried.’

And yet they sat in front of him on a desk, calling for him, pleading, basically begging to be read.

His curiosity gets the best of him, and he begins looking through the recent transactions, only dating back as far as three months before the Tragedy. Nothing particularly draws his attention, in fact, he winces at how little Lonato made in those few months. 

That all changes about two weeks before the attack. The numbers are still consistent, but he notices two staggeringly high amounts, deposited a week apart. The last payment had been made the day before the King had died. Claude immediately looks to the source — it was becoming alarmingly apparent that this had been some sort of payoff, but from who? For what? 

According to the transcript, the sums come from “Solon.” He isn’t sure if that’s the name of a person or company, but it’s unique nature shouldn’t be difficult to— _wait a moment._ _Solon._ The unusual name strikes Claude as familiar, and he begins rifling through his own bag, fishing out the file from the Locket. 

There are a few items in this folder. Surveillance photos, legal documents, copies of receipts, but most importantly, bank documents. Claude removes the bank information and places it down beside Lonato’s. 

His suspicion is confirmed when he sees that the information lines up exactly. The exact same amounts of money, the two payments spread within two weeks before the date of death, both from “Solon.” 

The same source that had wired money to Christophe had also wired money to Count Gloucester, who was in the process of being investigated for foul play in regards to the death of Claude’s uncle.

Claude suddenly staggers backwards until he hits the wall, dropping his flashlight and panting hard as if he’d just joined in on one of Felix’s gym sessions. He was at an impasse, and he had two choices. He could put the documents back and forget about them. Let Seiros and Associates handle it, let Byleth do… whatever it is that she’s planning to do. Judging from the notes scribbled in muted blue pen ink, she should already be formulating a plan. Yes, leaving this alone would be the right choice according to anyone with a good moral compass.

That had never been Claude though. His moral compass could be better described as a broken GPS. 

His second choice, and most likely to be his course of action, is to follow this information himself. For there to be a connection between the death of Faerghus’ king and who was supposed to be the next sovereign duke of the Leicester Alliance screamed _conspiracy,_ a word that intrigued Claude more than ‘mystery.’ It was the least he could do for his mother, right? 

He quickly pulls out his phone to take pictures of Byleth’s documents, and notices that he has four messages from Hilda. His phone had been on silent, and reading the messages, he’s wishing he had been checking it. 

**3:07** Hilda: your TA has been in the bathroom for the last ten minutes, i’m pretty sure she gave me the slip.

 **3:09** Hilda: helloooo?? she’s definitely on her way, get out of there!!

 **3:11** Hilda: claude???? i caught sight of her, she’s about five minutes away from the school.

 **3:14** Hilda: if you die or get arrested, i get your car and apartment right?

Claude checks the time and grimaces. It’s 3:17. He has about two minutes to get everything back in order and get the hell out. He takes hasty photos of the captured documents, carefully rearranging them in the folder and carefully placing it back in the drawer, papers scattered above it. He slams it shut a little too hard, and jams Hilda’s pins back into the lock, twisting and applying pressure and jiggling them until he hears a click, and yanks them out, bending down to retrieve his flashlight and rushing out of the office.

He’s about to re-lock the door when he hears footsteps to his left, and turns to see Byleth walking towards him. As casually as he can manage, he leans against the wall near the door, his heart pounding as he tries to slow the heaving of his chest. “Teach!” He greets in a tone that is uncharacteristically high. Luckily, she hasn’t known him long enough to pick up on it. He clears his throat and tries again. “Funny seeing you here.”

Her expression is unchanging, stuck in an impatient mask. “At my office?” She deadpans, and Claude forces out a laugh as he racks his brain for an excuse. "What do you want, Clyde?"

Wait. _Clyde?_ “Uh, yeah! I was just on my way here to find you, actually. I had some questions about the material you posted for the tutorial. You mind giving me a hand?” He asks, deciding that if she's going to report anyone, it might as well be 'Clyde.'

She stares at him again, open and unashamed, and for a moment, Claude fears she’s seen through his lie. It wasn’t one of his best. “My office hours are on Thursdays from three until five. If you’re truly confused, come by then. If those times don’t work, you can email me to make an appointment. My contact information is on the syllabus.” 

Not about to argue and dig himself into an even deeper hole, he shuts up and nods, walking past her when she steps aside, not looking back. He feels her eyes follow him as he leaves. Behind him, he also hears the creak of her door, and his blood turns cold. 

Byleth doesn’t say anything, and the creak of the door’s hinges is followed by a slam, and he peeks over his shoulder for a brief second to see that she’s disappeared inside. He pauses for a moment, waiting for her to come out screaming, but she doesn’t. Picking up his pace, Claude doesn’t stop again until he’s out of the building, dropping himself onto a nearby bench to catch his breath. 

So this is what it’s like to get caught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Jeralt asks Byleth about her day, he chokes on his beer when he hears that Clyde, the flower boy that his wife had fawned over, came to his daughter outside of office hours.


	5. Byleth & Clyde

“What’s with you today?” Felix huffs breathlessly beside her, taking a long swig from his water bottle and wiping sweat from his forehead. Usually, Felix limited their early morning activity to a relaxed jog, just enough to get their blood flowing and kickstart their systems for the day. 

This morning though, Byleth wasn’t interested in a languid romp around the city, instead opting for what could only be described as a race. Though Felix had voiced his displeasure at various points in their run, he was never one to back down from a challenge. “You were tense,” he informs her when they finally slow to a stop in front of Fraldarius Blooms. “It affected your form and inadequately distributed your energy. Look.” He points to her hand, which was still balled into a tight fist. “You exerted unnecessary energy squeezing it like that,” he explains, putting his degree in kinesiology to good use. Byleth immediately unfurls her hands, flexing her fingers thoughtfully. “What’s got you so wound up?”

It was Monday, and admittedly, she was feeling a little stressed. Her first tutorial of the year was today, but it wasn’t the teaching aspect that was messing with her head. It was the fact that she’d be seeing _him_ again. 

Clyde.

The guy who’d hit her in the face, somehow found out about her stolen copies, threatened to report her for them, and broke into her office all in a week’s worth of time. The worst part though, was that she didn’t even know what he had done in her office. Everything was left seemingly untouched, and even her evidence was accounted for. Judging from the fact that she hadn’t been arrested over the weekend, it was safe to assume he hadn’t reported her, but what exactly was his motivation? Thinking about it, stress didn’t even begin to describe what she was feeling.

“I’m fine,” she sighs, rolling her shoulders a few times before grabbing the top of her foot, carefully pulling her heel towards her rear to stretch her thighs. “Just anxious about today.”

Felix mimics her actions, accompanied by a few stabilizing breaths. “Well,” he asks after a few beats of silence, dropping his foot and placing his hands behind his head. “Are you going to tell me what you’re so anxious about or am I supposed to guess?”

Byleth places her hands on her hips, turning to face him completely. “You really wanna know?”

“I wouldn’t be asking otherwise.” 

True enough, especially coming from Felix, who would rather run miles than talk about feelings. “Okay, come on,” she nods, leading him into the shop and out of the street to avoid the early morning rush. When they step inside, the counter is vacant, her mother’s gardening gloves laid beside the till, alongside Ainara’s apron. 

“They must be out in the greenhouse,” Felix says, jutting a thumb over his shoulder to the back door. Right on cue, Byleth hears their mother’s giggling coming through the crack in the door. “Now, tell me what’s going on.” 

Byleth suddenly finds herself hesitating. Her predicament wasn’t easily explained. Presently, her issue was Clyde, and how she knew for a fact that he had done _something_ when he’d broken into her office. But she couldn’t exactly tell Felix about him without revealing the brunt of what she’d done. And what was she supposed to say? That she made copies and kept a set of confidential evidence that could turn the whole Lonato case on its head? That she was planning on looking into it herself? She’d done something _illegal_ , and his father’s security company worked closely with Seiros and Associates. The firm she’d kind of stolen from. 

“It’s my first time teaching,” she settles on, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I’m a little nervous, also because I know that Clyde is one of the students in my tutorial.” It’s a half-truth at best, but not an outright lie.

Felix frowns. “Clyde?”

“The guy who hit me in the face and bought me flowers,” she reminds him, bewildered that he’s forgotten already. Felix lets out an odd sound, something between a cough and a laugh, and Byleth narrows her eyes at him. “I thought you were friends with him.”

“Right, _Clyde,_ ” he chuckles, and Byleth has a feeling that she’s missing something. “He’s more Sylvain’s friend than mine, but I know he can be a bit— eccentric at times.” 

“How do you deal with him?” She wonders aloud. If she’d learned anything new about Felix upon moving back, it’d be that he’s definitely extended his friend circle. The Felix she’d known throughout her youth couldn’t bear anyone outside of her, Ingrid, Sylvain, and Dimitri (who seemed to be on thin ice lately). 

“He needs to be mocked at least five times a day, otherwise I find that he’s insufferable,” Felix shrugs. “Despite that, he’s...decent enough.” 

Decent? Byleth isn’t too sure about that.

But then again, neither is she.

When she doesn’t answer, Felix casts her a questioning glance. “Is he giving you a hard time?” 

Yes, he certainly is, but she can’t exactly say why. 

“Oh, Ainara, look who it is!” 

Thankful for the distraction from her current predicament, Byleth turns to see their mothers entering through the back door, bright smiles on their dirt-streaked faces. Their arms are full, Sitri holding carefully trimmed greenery, and Ainara holding...a cat?

“Mom, is that a—”

“A kitten!” Ainara gushes, holding out the small creature by its underarms. “We found this little lady napping in the lilac bushes,” she explains, dropping the kitten into Felix’s waiting hands. Felix immediately cradles the solid coloured inky black kitten to his chest, cooing down at her when she tucks herself into the crook of his arm, his expression instantly softening. “We think she’s a stray. At least now we know who’s been nipping at our flower buds!”

“So the mystery has been solved,” Byleth comments, recalling her mother’s distress at the mysterious force that’d been terrorizing the greenhouse.

“You’re a sneaky little thing, aren’t you?” Felix chuckles, stroking the kitten’s small head with an uncharacteristic tenderness. The cat purrs contentedly, leaning further into his hand and staring up adoringly at him.

Byleth looks between Felix and his new feline friend, studying the similarities. Dark hair, strikingly sharp amber eyes with a piercing stare. In a way, she supposed Felix could be described as feline in everything he did. Similar to a cat, his movements — whether he was simply jogging with her or fencing with Glenn — were always lithe and smooth. Like a cat, his interactions with others were strictly set to his terms. Situations were always controlled to fit his preferred element, should he choose to slip away at a moment's notice upon disinterest.

If Byleth didn’t know Felix better, it would have been easy to miss the tension in his shoulders melting away. She wouldn’t have been able to catch the slight softening at the corners of his lips, all because of a garden-hungry kitten. “You know, Felix, this little thing kind of reminds me of you,” Byleth jokes, patting the kitten on the head once, eliciting a quiet growl from the flower-chomping menace at the new and unwarranted contact. “Oh, she’s a Fraldarius, alright.” 

Felix scoffs, and the kitten in his arms twists around onto its back. It stretches languidly before its eyes flutter shut, and any argument Felix has prepared seems to die in his throat. “Hmph,” is all he huffs, staring down at the snoozing kitten.

Ainara reaches out and strokes the kitten’s belly. “If she’s a stray then...I suppose there wouldn’t be any real harm in taking her home,” she murmurs quietly, as not to disturb their sleeping guest. “Maybe if we give her a nice home, she’ll stop nipping at our garden.”

Felix’s face brightens at the idea, and Byleth can’t help but smile. Who could have guessed that Felix Fraldarius was a cat person? 

“Byleth, honey?” Sitri calls from behind the counter, waving her over as Ainara and Felix discuss bringing their newest family member home. “Before I forget and you run off to class, this morning your father wished to speak with you.” 

Byleth freezes, thinking about every single interaction she had with Jeralt this weekend. Nothing particular stands out, and she dares to ask, “Did he mention what he wanted to talk about?” 

“Something about the firm,” Sitri hums, fiddling with the register. “He said he would call you.”

Byleth’s heart drops into her stomach. Alarms go off in her head, red lights flash before her eyes in a frenzied panic. He wants to talk to her about the firm. _He knows._

  
  


__________

  
  
  


Of course, Clyde is the first person to arrive for her tutorial, claiming a spot at the table directly in front of her. He shows up fifteen minutes before her tutorial is scheduled to begin, slowly unpacking his things and leaning back in his chair, a pencil twirling between his thumb and forefinger as he stares at her. If he’s trying to unsettle her, he would have to try harder than that. She was a woman living in a modern era, unwarranted stares from men were nothing new to her. Byleth simply nods once in greeting, eyes once again finding her phone. She wishes her father would just call her and get it over with, dish out whatever consequences came as a result of her actions. How had he known?

“...you even listening to me, Teach?” 

Byleth’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice (she hadn’t even been aware he was talking), and she’s met with a tight-lipped smile and an inquisitive stare, his eyes boring into her as he’s trying to get a read on her thoughts. “I wasn’t really, no,” she replies coolly, opening her laptop and looking for the digital folder holding her attendance list. She hadn’t even looked at the thing yet.

Unsurprisingly, her sarcasm doesn’t get under his skin and drive him away. Instead, he leans over the table, the thin smile widening like a cheshire cat moments away from pouncing on its prey. “Well then. What’s on your mind, if not me?” 

Byleth blinks at him, hoping her face doesn’t betray her and showcases the gradual build of annoyance she feels steadily rising. What makes him think she would ever tell _him_ of all people? He’s cocky, and she’d like nothing more than to put him in his place, but Byleth reminds herself that annoying as he is, he’s still her student. “Nothing.” 

Her vagueness doesn’t seem to deter him either, in fact, it seems to only egg him on. Byleth quickly realizes that not only is he cocky, he’s extremely nosy too. “Not much of a talker, are you?” Byleth ignores him, pretending to draft an email, fingers hitting random keys. “Alright, I’ll bite. If nothing’s on your mind, then why are you frowning?” 

She stops drafting her fake email, but doesn’t have to look up to know he’s still staring at her intently. “I’m not frowning.” She wasn’t...was she?

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.” 

“Yes.”

“No — this is ridiculous,” Byleth mutters, appalled that she’s been roped into such childish banter. He’s about to cast another witty remark when two more students stumble into the room, seemingly out of breath as they drop themselves into seats in the front row, bickering about a missing pen. Without sparing them a glance, Clyde looks down his nose at her, chin lifted, lips curled in a triumphant smile. 

It only lasts for a second though, because he then immediately turns his attention to the student situated to his right. Dimitri — Byleth instantly recognizes. The prince of Faerghus. Anxiety bubbles in the pit of her stomach. She was teaching a _prince_. Clyde whispers something in his ear. When he pulls back, the triumphant smirk has turned into a sly grin, Dimitri’s face instantly turning bright red. 

Her problem student isn’t finished though, because with a simple shift in his seat, he’s nudging the person on his left. Byleth takes in the long white hair and analytical gaze belonging to the princess of Adrestia. Byleth feels her palms start to sweat. When Seteth had told her that she would have a hand in moulding the minds of the future, he had neglected to inform her that two of those minds would belong to two of the most powerful heirs in Fódlan. 

All she was missing was the heir to the Alliance. 

He was quite a character, from what the rumours told of him. Apparently he’d been in Fódlan for quite some time before he was legally recognized as the legitimate heir the year before last. The grandson of the sovereign Duke Oswald. He was the sole heir of his position, due in no small part to his daughter’s disappearance, and the death of his son shortly after.

However, despite being the second most important man in Leicester, he seemed to avoid the public eye. The man — Claude was his name, if her memory served correct — kept a surprisingly low profile. Apparently he’d only shown himself at events, but even that wasn’t a guarantee. He existed, but that was all the information that House Riegan had released to the public. 

“It’s to save face,” Jeralt had told her the night that House Riegan made the announcement. “Oswald is barely kicking. Without an heir, House Riegan would lose their seat at the Roundtable. Smart move though, keeping the majority of his identity a secret. If they knew what he looked like, I know a lot of fellows in Leicester would pay big money to get him out of the picture, just like they did his uncle.” Staying out of the spotlight was a difficult thing to do in this day and age, and to do it successfully? Even more difficult. 

Students dropping their books onto the desks shake Byleth out of her thoughts. Looking around, checking the clock, she sees that it’s 11am, time for her tutorial to start. She shouldn’t let her mind wander to the mysterious heir of Leicester. Not when her father most definitely will call to yell at her, and Clyde’s incessant pen clicking is already beginning to drive her insane.

“I suppose I’ll start with attendance,” Byleth sighs, rising out of her seat, and moving to sit on the edge of the desk. She places her laptop on her lap, wondering how she’ll even begin memorizing faces and names. 

Other than the prince and princess, there are a select few names that catch Byleth’s eye as she calls them out. Aegir is first, and beside Edelgard, an orange haired man’s hand shoots straight up, accompanied by “I am Ferdinand von Aegir,” and she has a feeling that won’t be the only time she hears it. Byleth vaguely recognizes him as the son of one of the ministers in Adrestia. The son and daughter of two of Leicester’s cabinet members are also on her list. There’s a purple-haired Gloucester boy, and a young, white-haired Ordelia girl. 

“Claude?” Beside the name are the initials ‘v. Riegan,’ and Byleth looks up to put a face to the name. 

Directly in front of her, Clyde raises his hand. 

She feels a brief flash of annoyance. “I said Cla—” Byleth looks down at her list again, making sure she hasn’t read the wrong name. Surely she must have read it must be wrong.

It isn’t wrong. 

v. Riegan, _Claude._

v. _Riegan,_ Claude.

  
  


~ • ~

  
  
  


The look on her face was priceless. Claude wished he had a camera.

It only lasted for a brief second though, because it was almost instantly replaced by a scowl. Technically he hadn’t lied to her. He just never corrected her. 

He had stopped hiding his —mostly— real identity this year, deciding it’d be best to start his career in law at least a little honest. Claude has fought his grandfather relentlessly for it. “It’s not safe,” he’d argued after recounting the story of his own son. “We’ll be finished if you get yourself killed, boy! And for what? A piece of paper with your name on it and some _pride?”_

Yeah, that was exactly what he wanted.

There were already a number of people who knew already, anyways. His close friends were a few. Hilda had figured it out within a few weeks of knowing him. Claude guessed she had snooped through her brother’s office to get that information too. Sylvain had heard from Hilda, and Felix had eventually learned during one of Claude’s trips to Faerghus, where his family’s security company was hired to accompany him. 

The royals surrounding him had known too. He’d sat in the background at a number of conferences and summits, posing as an assistant of sorts. However, the Faerghan prince and Imperial princess were smarter than that. After all, they wanted to know who they’d be shaking hands with in the near future.

Byleth though, she seemed to put two and two together instantly. 

He’d spent all weekend reading and rereading the notes she’d left on the documents he’d gotten his hands on. He could tell that she was smart, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious to see what she would do with all the information that he had. Perhaps...perhaps they would make a great team.

Claude stores that thought away deep into the recesses of his mind. No, he doesn’t trust her enough for that yet.

She scared him, in a way. She may not cut a physically imposing figure, but there was something about her energy that told Claude that it might be safer to keep at a distance. Perhaps it’s because her stare, tinged with suspicion and obvious friction, could make a weak-hearted person want to curl in on themselves. Or maybe it’s the way the eerie calm on the rest of her face deeply unsettled him. 

Judging from their recent interactions, it’s definitely both of those things. The definitive red flag was that, in a way, she was exactly like him. 

That was the best and worst part. 

Byleth’s phone starts to ring when she’s in the middle of going through important terms and definitions. She quickly snatches it off the desk, not bothering to look up at them. “I’m expecting an important call, I’ll be back in five minutes...hopefully,” she mutters, striding out of the room. 

The class releases a collective sigh of relief, no doubt grateful for the opportunity to catch up on the notes. She’d set a rigorous pace from the beginning, and even Claude found himself one or two definitions behind at a time as she flew through slides. 

Approximately three minutes pass with Byleth in the hall. Beside Claude, Edelgard taps her red pen impatiently against her notebook. On his other side, Dimitri’s blue pen draws little doodles on the margins of his paper. 

Claude had never been one to sit idly and _wait_. Where was the fun in that? Ignoring the stares of his peers, he pushes out of his chair and heads towards the door, just barely poking his head out to see Byleth’s back in the hall.

From Inside the classroom, Lorenz scoffs. “Eavesdropping, Claude? I expected better from you. How you act reflects poorly on the Alliance. Think about how this would look—” 

“Get a haircut before you talk to me about looks,” Claude retorts, and Lorenz makes an offended noise, but ultimately shuts up long enough for Claude to catch the tail ends of Byleth’s conversation. 

“What did you mean you can’t, Dad? I’m the perfect person for it!” She whispers exasperatedly. “I would quit this job in a heartbeat for that one. I don’t care if it’s unpai— okay, I kind of care, but I still want it.” Claude’s brain begins buzzing with curiosity. Trouble with Jeralt? How intriguing. 

“I—” she pauses and sighs deeply, the sound heavy with stress and something else he can’t quite place. “Alright. I can try. No promises though, old man.” She hangs up and her posture, usually steady and proud, deflates as she shakes her head, muttering curses. She’s turns around suddenly, and Claude pulls himself back into the room, rushing back to his seat and bending over his notes and hoping she hadn't seen him.

When she returns, the only sound heard is the soft click from the heel of her boot against the floor. She resumes teaching as if nothing has happened, but Claude definitely isn’t processing any of it. He’s too busy trying to pick apart the conversation he’d overheard. In such a short amount of time, she’d piqued his interest, that was for sure. 

When he looks up at the board, she's watching him again, her lips pursed into another tight line, her eyes narrowed accusingly. She knows, of course she does.

Keeping his distance would definitely be safer, but where was the fun in that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byleth: Did you catch all of my conversation? Or next time should I take notes for you?


	6. Warmth

Sylvain has always been a romantic at heart. 

Yes, despite what others may have to say about him — that he was a womanizer, a serial philanderer — he had always secretly, _deep_ down, been infatuated by the concept of true love. The kind of love that he used to think existed solely in cheesy chick flicks and sappy romantic novels that he did _not_ borrow from Bernadetta. He liked to imagine that there was someone out there who understood him on a level beyond personal, someone that shared his thoughts and dreams in the most intimate of ways. He held himself on the belief that there was something more than the searing heat of a moment, that somewhere, there was _warmth._ Warmth that drew you in from the cold and enveloped you in a blanket of comfort that one would never wish to part with. It both excited and terrified him to believe that this warmth he craved resided in one perfect person out there, and maybe she was looking for him too. 

Maybe that’s why he had brought an array of women into his bed each night. He was searching, yearning for that warmth. Each night he brought someone new into his bed, he certainly felt the heat. It burned in the pit of his stomach with each encounter but was always diminished to an aching throb when he rolled over and was met with nothing but cold, long abandoned sheets or a metaphorically cold shoulder, thanking him for nothing more than a good night before rolling out of bed and out the door. 

His quest for true love had been unsuccessful thus far, and he could wager a good guess as to why. 

It was sitting across the bar from him, arm slung over Ingrid’s shaking shoulders as she laughed at something he said. 

“You’re glaring,” Byleth comments from the stool beside him, her eyes trailing his own to where Ingrid and Glenn snuggle contentedly in the booth. “Oh.” He can’t tell if the look on her face is condescending or accusatory. It was probably a mix of both. 

“Yeah,” he confirms lamely, downing his second shot of whiskey and letting the liquid burn down his throat. He slams the empty glass down and waves to the bartender for another, who immediately fills it to the brim. “You’re not going to lecture me, are you?” He questions boredly. He’s well aware of the disapproving nature of his situation, and he’d certainly heard enough about it from Felix.

But Byleth isn’t Felix, and Sylvain is reminded of that when she simply tilts her head to the side, eyes examining his face. “Why would I do that?” 

“Why wouldn’t you?” He chuckles, lifting the shot glass but choosing not to tip it back just yet. “It isn’t exactly proper, lusting over your best friend’s brother’s girlfriend.” 

She turns her attention back to the couple, the current source of his misery. He could tell that Ingrid was tipsy, her cheeks rosy and her movements slightly delayed. “I guess not,” she shrugs, “Felix told me what happened.” Sylvain groans, although it’s been years, his cheeks still flushed in slight embarrassment. Of course he told her. Felix told her everything. 

He and Ingrid had always held an interesting dynamic. Growing up together meant she’d been around to reign in the antics of himself, Felix, and Dimitri. Since middle school, she never hesitated to roll up her sleeves and grab his ear, dragging him away from his most recent conquest and lecture him about propriety. It also meant he’d seen her go through all the phases of her adolescence. Sylvain had watched her go from a baby faced preteen to awkward teen to a strong, beautiful young adult. It was only a matter of time before even she fell for his roguishly good looks and wily charms. 

And she did, when he was in twelfth grade and she in eleventh. Plainly speaking, the year they spent together as a couple was great. It wasn’t just the joy he felt swell in his chest when he made her smile from ear to ear, or heard her bubbling laughter float through the air. Normally, people took him at face value, saw him as nothing more than a flirt, but no one understood him better than Ingrid. 

With her, he felt truly _seen_. Never in his life had he confided in someone the way he did with her. She knew the most intimate places in his mind. From the frayed relationship with his estranged older brother, to the tense love-hate relationship with his father. He honestly wouldn’t have held steady under the familial pressure and made it to graduation if it wasn’t for her constant love and support. 

He hadn’t known it then, but he’d fallen in love— hard. 

Then he went and fucked it all up. 

Sylvain had been told that university was about finding oneself. So that’s what he set out to do, and for some reason, he’d decided he wanted to do that alone.

And it meant that somewhere along the way, he’d lost Ingrid. 

It was a complex mix of things that led to their fallout. He'd forget to text her goodnight, he'd call less frequently. In an attempt to avoid his father, he’d avoid going home to visit her all together. It went on for six months, until she’d finally decided that she was done.

He thought he could win her back. He’d worked on himself, taken a step back, and reassessed himself over the first year of wallowing in their breakup. By the time he’d pulled himself together, though, he was too late. She’d already found a steadfast partner in Glenn. Felix’s brother, of all people.

He hears Ingrid’s laugh again. For him, it cuts clear through the loud bustle of the bar, the sound of her mirth wrapping around his heart and constricting with a vice-like grip. Sylvain is about to take another drink to drown it out when Byleth speaks up again. “Whatever it is you’re feeling, I think it’s more than lust, and you aren’t wrong to feel it.”

The glass stops moments before it touches his lips. _That_ was certainly a new take. All he’d ever heard was that his feelings were wrong, that coveting your neighbor's wife was akin to lusting after the goddess herself. “What do you mean?”

The bartender sets a glass full of amber liquid down in front of her, and Byleth picks it up, swirling the liquid around in the glass a few times before taking a sip. “You may not be aware of it, but the look on your face gives it all away. Men often underestimate how easily readable they can be. I can see it in your eyes. You still… genuinely care for her.” 

Sylvain thinks that’s an understatement, but he wouldn’t dare say so out loud. Not when the topic of his forbidden affections could easily come up at a casual Eisner-Fraldarius brunch. What would she say to Glenn? To Felix? _Oh, your best friend is still in love with your brother’s girlfriend._ No. Sylvain, romantically tortured as he may be, quite liked being alive, thank you very much. “My eyes, huh? I can’t help it if they have a natural sparkle.” 

Byleth chuckles, raising the glass to her lips as she swivels in her stool to face him, her gaze purely analytical as she searched the depths of his very being. “It’s not so much a sparkle, that’s different. It’s jealousy, longing,” she pauses, her gaze flicking behind him momentarily, “I daresay _love_.” 

_That_ made him choke on air. Though he himself had known it for a while, to hear it so plainly out loud was… Well, it was bittersweet. He’d found his one true love, but she just...didn’t love him back. 

Before Sylvain can catch his breath or even begin to wallow in his sad revelation, she follows up on that oh so controversial statement. “I’m not going to tell you to act on it,” she says, turning to face the bar again. The fact that she thought it was a possible course of action for him to take almost made him laugh. “I love Glenn too much for that, and I would hate to see him hurt, but I will tell you this.” She leans closer to him, as if she’s about to share a secret. He tilts his head to hear. “You shouldn’t be so quick to invalidate your feelings, and you shouldn’t beat yourself up over them. In fact, I think you should embrace them.” 

Sylvain recoils as if her words had been a white hot knife that she’d held to his skin. Now the object of her assessment, he understood Claude’s described discomfort in her presence. In the short amount of time he’d known Byleth, she’d successfully chipped away at the walls he’d carefully built up around his heart, uncovering the secrets of love and affection he’d stored away out of anyone’s sight and somehow knew just what he was hiding. “So what? I get up on the rooftops and shout my affections for her?” He quips, and her face immediately scrunches.

“No, Sylvain. Love…it goes beyond craving physical intimacy. You can love someone without lusting after them. Above all, you want the other person to be happy. Her happiness is yours, right?” 

Her happiness?

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Ingrid crawls into Glenn’s lap, planting kisses on his neck as he laughs. It’s a form PDA that only four-drink Ingrid would display. Sylvain knew this because he used to be the one whose lap she’d clamber into. 

“Just...be friends first, show her you still care.” Byleth mumbles into her glass. “Maybe then she’ll understand.” 

“Friends first,” he repeats, the words foreign on his lips and in his mind. He can do that. The growing number of hookups may suggest otherwise, but for Ingrid, he would do it. But he’s done with taking the spotlight for tonight. After a few moments of silence, he leans back with an easy grin, once again filling the nonchalant façade he put on from day to day. “Solid advice. Is that what you tell yourself about Felix?” He asked, turning the spotlight onto her.

This time, Byleth chokes on her drink, nearly sputtering alcohol onto the bar. “Felix?”

His smile only grows. “Come on, Byleth. I know Felix pretty well. He doesn’t know it, but I’m his second best friend, only after you, of course.” Byleth wipes the corner of her mouth with her sleeve. “I know how he can be. He’s tough to deal with, you never know what he’s thinking.”

“I’ll have to disagree with you there,” she counters. “I think he’s pretty easy to read.” She pauses to think this over, and he raises a brow expectantly. “On occasion.” 

“Exactly. On occasion. He has his moments where his behaviour makes sense. He’s like a cat, cold to everyone with few exceptions, but you can tell exactly when he _likes_ someone.” 

Her eyes widened at his implication. “Sylvain, I don’t think Felix—”

Sylvain fights back laughter as she frowns up at him. “I thought you were an expert on reading men?” He chuckles, graciously accepting another shot of whiskey. “Felix tolerates you on a level beyond myself, Ingrid, and especially Dimitri, and he’s known us longer. Doesn’t that make you even a little suspicious?” 

“He’s—he’s my _friend_ ,” she sputters in disbelief. “He’s like a—”

He holds a hand up to stop her rant, quite enjoying the response he’s elicited from her. “Like a sibling, I know. Felix said the same thing.” She shoots him a stunned look, her mouth hanging open. “Hey, obviously I hear you. Close friends and intimate relationships are a tricky mix.” Sylvain knew that better than anyone. Ingrid, though she spent the majority of their platonic friendship lecturing him, was a close friend of his. Though they had learned to let bygones be bygones as they grew up, their breakup drove an unavoidable wedge between them, and their relationship could never be the same. “Aren’t you curious though? I mean, let’s be real, he isn’t particularly bad to look at once you get past the resting bitch face.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “Probably a beast in the sheets.” 

Byleth blinks a few times before turning away, opting to stay silent. Sylvain is sure that the redness painting her cheeks isn’t from the alcohol. Sylvain’s phone buzzes in his coat pocket, and he checks to see a message from Hilda. Downing his final shot, he slides off the stool and places a chaste kiss to Byleth’s cheek, feeling the warmth radiating from her skin. “Thanks for your advice, really. I’ll...try.” He pulls away, backing towards the exit where Hilda is waiting for him.

“Sylvain, wait,” she calls after him, stumbling out of her stool. “Why...why say all that?” 

“Ah, well, you know—” he shoots her another one of his famously disarming smiles as he shrugs his shoulders. “Just some observations.” 

  
  


__________

  
  


Byleth rolls her eyes when Sylvain is out of sight. The gears in her mind shift to rework her entire image of him. She previously thought him nothing but a blabbermouth with a reputation for seducing women, but their whole exchange forced her to step back and rethink that. 

But in what world did that conversation about Felix possibly make sense? 

She’d agreed to come out to the bar to forget her problems for a night, not to be faced with new...would this exactly qualify as a problem? It was just Felix. 

Felix, who as a baby, always toddled behind her and Glenn on stubby legs, crying about being left behind. Felix, who as a teen, stopped toddling and would race past her side, vowing to best her mile and surpass her. Felix, who as an adult, now felt comfortable enough to tread by her side and became who she considered her closest friend.

He was her _friend_ , Felix.

She knew Sylvain was a lot of things. A disingenuine flirt and unendingly annoying, but he’d never once been called a flat-out liar. He hadn’t lied about Ingrid, as uncomfortable as that truth may be. But was there evidence to support this specific claim? What had he seen? Perhaps a dusting of colour on Felix’s cheeks when they brushed shoulders, or maybe wandering eyes that lingered too long? Sylvain claims to have seen _something_ , but when it came to matters of love concerning _herself_ , Byleth would need a signed confession from Felix to believe it. 

Byleth tips the rest of the scotch past her lips and immediately requests another. For now, she’ll have to save her curiosity for tonight, where she’ll inevitably lay in bed overthinking it anyways. She has other things she needs to brood about as she drinks. Lesson plans for her upcoming tutorial, a midterm that was fast approaching in one of her own lectures.

Her phone screen lights up, and she sees a text from her father. 

**10:03** Dad: Did you find someone yet? Need a recommendation by Monday.

Byleth groans and turns her phone off, flipping it so the screen is face down. It isn’t her mother, so she has a few hours to spare before beginning to formulate a response. 

At his request, she was currently in the process of trying to decide which student to send his way for a part time administrative intern job at Seiros & Associates. Byleth would have loved to take the job herself, but unfortunately nepotism was an issue, and they’d already helped her get a job at the university. So, she was asked to recommend one of her “brats” as Jeralt had so lovingly called them. 

As she silently mourns the loss of such an opportunity, someone slides into the stool to her left, clearing their throat. “About time you showed up,” Byleth says jadedly, not bothering to spare her unwanted companion a glance.

“Usually people start conversations with ‘hello,’ or ‘how was your day?’” Hilda chuckles, and Byleth shrugs half-heartedly.

“And usually when people agree to meet at a predetermined time, they show up at said time,” she sighs. 

Hilda orders a cocktail, but not without batting her lashes at the bartender. “Hey, technically you were early. Didn’t I just see you having a nice chat with Sylvain?”

Byleth purses her lips. “It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary,” she lies. “So, are we actually here to talk this time, or are you just stalling so your little sidekick can break into my house or something?”

Hilda’s smile doesn’t fade, in fact, her expression brightens and she simply rests an elbow on the table, sipping on her fruity little drink. “I knew I liked you, counselor. Despite what he may think, Claude is totally my sidekick! But don’t worry, you don’t have anything to worry about this time.” She holds her free hand up her posture straightening. “I swear I’m telling you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.” 

Byleth is about to retort that perjury is a crime, but someone beats her to it. “It’s illegal to lie under oath, Hilda.” Byleth doesn’t even have to turn around to recognize the voice’s owner. The presumptuous tone is a dead giveaway. She knows it’s Clyde— Claude, behind her, and he’s here to ruin her night. 

It’d been nearly two weeks since their last official interaction. He’d stayed mostly out of her way, instead opting to do his snooping from a distance. She feigned ignorance at the gym, where she _did not_ see him pretending to follow along during Felix’s advanced HIIT class. She opted to remain blissfully unaware when she felt his eyes follow her while walking through campus. Surely he knew how obvious he was, it was hard to ignore eyes burning holes into the back of your head, watching, waiting for you to slip up.

“Claude,” she greets stiffly. 

“Teach,” he replies, claiming the stool Sylvain had previously occupied. “Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, an easygoing grin on his face. 

She holds up her recently filled glass of scotch. “No,” she replies, but sitting between him and his friend, she feels she may be in need of a refill soon. 

“Scotch,” he observes as she takes a larger than usual gulp. “An interesting choice for an interesting woman.” 

_Interesting?_ The single intended gulp turns into various, and soon all she can see is the bottom of her glass. “Why are you here? Following me again?” She challenges, the beginnings of a smirk beginning to tug on the corners of her lips. 

“If I were really following you — I mean _really_ following you — then you wouldn’t have a clue,” he answers slyly. He then orders two drinks. A scotch on the rocks for her, and one Old Fashioned for him. “Not this time, though. I’m here because Hilda invited me out.” 

“Hilda invited me out, too.” 

Right on cue, they turn their heads at the sound of an airy laugh. Both turn to Byleth’s left to see Hilda, who is currently flirting with the bartender as he makes their drinks. “Hey, femme fatale,” Claude calls loudly, catching not just Hilda’s attention, but half the room’s. Byleth wishes she could sink down under the bar. Glass of bourbon in his hand, he gestures between them. “Any reason in particular you brought us both out here tonight?”

Hilda waggles her fingers goodbye to the bartender before turning to face them, straightening her skirt and flicking her hair over her shoulder. “I was wondering when you’d ask.” The smile on her face only grows, and somewhere in the back of Byleth’s mind, the word ‘suspicious’ flashes repeatedly. “You see, I’ve called this fun little meeting because I have some friends who don’t quite get along. Now, I’m not going to name names—”

“Clyde and I are the only ones here,” Byleth interrupts, and Claude shoots her an exasperated look.

“Claude. My name is Claude.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No, it wasn't.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Okay, okay,” Hilda laughs nervously. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You two are going to sit here, drink your boring drinks, and work it out. I won’t let you leave until you’re friends.” With that, she stalks off to a booth, plopping herself down across from Ingrid and Glenn, waving to where Claude and Byleth watch her in disbelief. 

“The audacity,” Byleth mutters into her glass. “You wanna talk, Clyde? Let’s talk,” she says, fixing her gaze on him.

This time, Claude holds her gaze steadily, and she wonders how his mouth doesn't hurt from the smile that seems to be painted onto his face. He does shift in his seat though, and now he's closer. He's so close, that the smell of aftershave and spice on his skin and the faint hint of bourbon on his breath makes a strange warmth shoot through her very core. She quickly snuffs it out with a sip of her drink.

“I thought you’d never ask, Teach.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sylvain calls his blue lion friends over for a little therapy. 
> 
> sylvain: TELL me why  
> BL: ain't nothing but a heartache  
> sylvain: tell ME why  
> BL: ain't nothing but a mistake  
> sylvain: tell me WHY  
> BL: i never wanna hear you say  
> sylvain & all: I WANT IT THAT WAY


	7. Indecent Proposals

Claude liked to watch people. Not in _that_ way, mind you. Bold and gregarious as he may be at times, he had always preferred silence, and by proxy, silent observation. Sitting back to watch and listen to those around him simply proved to be of greater benefit. 

He also just thought that it was fun to see how they reacted to certain things, especially if the catalyst was an event created or manipulated by himself. 

In all seriousness, knowing when to shut up and just _watch_ was a useful skill to wield. Especially in the conniving world of law and politics he’d found himself entangled with upon arriving in Fódlan. Politicians were so focused on pushing their personal agendas that they would forget to just stop and read the room. Silence spoke volumes in both the court of law and the conference room, but you had to observe the people around you to know whether it was good or bad. Understanding and interpreting the state of those casting their votes was the difference between a loss and a win. 

It was through his observations that he considered himself decent at reading others, often reading between the lines to discern one’s true nature. A coy attitude and plastic smile that lulled an unsuspecting individual into a false sense of security before snapping and exploiting their weaknesses. A forced, tight-lipped smile masking gritted teeth at the sight of a couple’s interlocked hands. 

His friends may have others fooled, but not him. No, never him. 

He tries to apply his skill here. Sitting with Byleth, the silence is heavy with distrust and unspoken intentions. Claude felt as if he were staring down the barrel of a gun. It was slightly terrifying, but he continued to stare anyways. He wasn’t just going to let her win. 

So, they sit in uncomfortable silence at the bar, waiting, willing the other to make the first move, to show their hand or call a bluff. He knows they’re not just waiting, but assessing, analyzing, sizing each other up. She breaks their stare first, turning to face the bar. 

He’d been studying her a bit over the last two weeks, when the opportunity presented itself. He kept a close eye on her during tutorials, let curiosity get the best of him when they’d unintentionally crossed paths on campus. He’d been curious to see what exactly she planned to do with the information she had gathered, but she’d done surprisingly little, her actions very much mundane. 

If Claude were being completely honest, he was having a bit of a hard time getting a read on her and what exactly her intentions were. Her expression, while not completely unyielding, was well-guarded. He often found himself unable to see beyond whatever she let him see. At the moment, it’s her boredom, slowly morphing into growing restlessness, marked by the tightening of her jaw and slight knotting of her brows. She has nervous tics, he realizes, noting the way her finger taps rapidly on her glass, the movement so subtle he almost doesn’t catch it. 

Was he making her nervous? 

He watches her over the rim of his glass, taking a small sip of his bourbon and doing his best to ignore the burn at the back of his throat. Alcohol had never appealed to him, but he was doing his best to adapt to the scene. 

“You’re staring again,” she observes without so much as a glance in his direction, the corners of her lips downturned as she sips from her glass. He has yet to see her smile. 

“I’m not staring,” he lies, sitting up a little straighter and clearing his throat. “I’m...gazing.”

Her raised brow betrays her stoic expression at his flirty response. “Well, stop. It’s creepy.”

Undeterred, he leans in, and she immediately leans away, nearly falling off the stool in a desperate attempt to preserve her personal space. “It’s romantic,” he corrects nonetheless, winking once. 

She looks more annoyed than smitten. “Just what about this situation is romantic to you?” She questions with a scoff, her nose wrinkling in distaste.

“Come on, Teach. What about this situation isn’t romantic to you?” He grins, gesturing around them. “Lights turned down low, drinks in hand...my hot body next to your hot body, can’t get much better than this, can it?” 

Immune to his charms, she sighs deeply, rubbing her temples in exasperation, as if already trying to fight an oncoming headache. “Are you always this irritating?” 

“Yep,” he grins, “especially when I want something.” Or so he’s been told. 

The statement finally draws her attention, though not without the roll of her eyes. She does turn to him, arms crossed protectively over her chest as she looks down her nose at him. “Oh? The future sovereign duke of the Leicester Alliance wants something from me? I’m honoured,” she comments, voice dripping with sarcasm that for some reason, Claude found very attractive.

He isn’t at all surprised that she knows of his precarious position. He’d expected she’d figured it out during their first tutorial, as she seemed like a smart enough woman. The shocked look on her face when she’d called his full name was priceless. “As you should be,” he nods. Asking for help certainly isn’t something that he makes a habit of. “Before I ask and you shoot me down immediately,” he starts, shifting in his seat. “You should know it would do you some good to get into my good graces. My grandfather, bless his old soul, only has a year or so left in him at best, then the Alliance will be in the hands of yours truly.”

She doesn’t at all look impressed, and he’s having a hard time figuring out just how to get under her skin. “I’m from Faerghus. If I wanted to be on anyone’s good side, it would be Dimitri’s,” she scoffs, turning back to the bar. As far as Claude knew, she already was on the prince’s good side. The man hung onto her every word during the entire hour and twenty one minutes as if he were a worshipper at the feet of Fódlan’s goddess herself. “Cut to the chase, Clyde. I’m beginning to lose interest and starting to get drunk. You have five minutes at most before you’re officially entering a negotiation with someone under the influence.” 

Claude holds up his hands in surrender, but she doesn’t let her guard down, arms still crossed on the bar in front of her, half-filled glass clutched tightly in her hand. “Hey, all I hear is that you’re willing to negotiate,” he points out. “But I get if you aren’t confident enough to negotiate properly after a few drinks. So how about we do this another time? Over a nice dinner, maybe? You in your best dress, me in my best suit. I promise I’ll treat you real nice,” he offers with a suggestive waggle of his brows.

“No,” she frowns, not even bothering to entertain the idea. “I highly doubt you could out-maneuver me in a negotiation, inebriated or not,” she states confidently with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “Do your worst, von Riegan.”

Though he’s mildly annoyed at his fruitless attempts at drawing any sort of intense reaction from her, he can’t help but laugh at her impertinence. He’d truly not met an aspiring lawyer so...unsociable. “Awfully impatient, are we, Teach? I was simply trying to develop a deep and meaningful friendship before asking for any favours, but I’ll start with this.” He leans towards her again, and this time she stills, casting him a wary side glance. “Do you trust me?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

Touché. “Well, I appreciate your honesty, Teach,” he says, running a finger over the rim of his glass. “However, I think we’re after the same thing.” 

Her brow flicks up. “What makes you think that?”

“Solon,” he says, and her eyes widen as she looks around to see if anyone else has heard his not-so-subtle voice. “Do you recognize the name?” 

“Yes,” she hisses under her breath. “I knew you broke into my office and looked at my papers! I knew it! _I knew it!_ ” She growls, her cheeks beginning to burn a bright crimson, and not just from the alcohol. 

Claude forces himself to keep a straight face at the reaction he interprets as anger. If he didn’t already know that she was capable of using some martial arts move to knock the life out of him, he would have thought she looked more cute than threatening. 

He immediately shakes the thought out of his head. No. Absolutely not. “Obviously,” he says, his voice coming out more strained than he liked. “ What better way to get to know you?” 

Byleth chooses to ignore it, or doesn’t seem to notice as she lets out a sharp laugh, throwing her head back. “I don’t know. Lunch?” 

“Already tried that,” he reminds her. “You wouldn’t even let your guard down around sweet little Hilda.” The pinched look on her face tells him she knows as well as he does that Hilda is anything but sweet. 

“Are you that doubtful of your own abilities?” She questions, tilting her head slightly as she squints up at him, her gaze critical as ever. “Or do you send Hilda to do all your dirty work?” 

“Oh, I do plenty of that on my own,” he assures her, forcing down the rest of his drink. “A good lawyer simply makes use of all his resources. I think you know that as well as I do,” he shrugs. “Which brings me back to my original point. Since we’re after the same person, I don’t think it’s too bold of me to assume that we need each other.” 

Byleth chokes on her drink. “I’m sorry?” She coughs, and Claude, the perfect gentleman he is, slides her a napkin. She doesn’t take it, opting instead to use the sleeve of her shirt. “Why in Fódlan would I need your help? I’m perfectly capable on my own,” she quips, but the slight grimace indicates that the statement isn’t entirely true. 

“Look, Teach. While I don’t doubt your ability to unearth information, your reach only goes so far,” he explains, eagerly awaiting to hear her rebuttal so he can prove her wrong. “What do you say? You, me, righting wrongs and putting down some dirty political animals? Come on, I think we could do great things together.”

It doesn’t come.

He considers his next words carefully. Her silence tells him that, while he’s definitely on thin ice, she’s at least taking the time to process his words. She would have written him off immediately with a snarky one-liner otherwise. “As far as I know, your reach only goes as far as Seiros and Associates, and maybe a few big names in Faerghus. Don’t get me wrong, you’ve got some great sources, but it’s not enough. What if your research takes you into the Alliance, or overseas? You’d greatly benefit with the help of, say, a future duke.” Though his tone is confidently clear, Claude’s fingers nervously drum against his knee when she still doesn’t reply. Though he’d given this plenty of consideration, run through every worst case scenario in his head, he was still nervous. 

“Okay,” she blinks. “You’re right.”

He honestly isn’t sure he heard right. He certainly expected _a lot_ more resistance, but did she just...agree? No questions asked? To mask his surprise, Claude cups a hand around his ear, leaning dangerously close to her, a wicked grin on his face. “What was that?” 

“I won’t say it again,” she grumbles, shoving his shoulder with raw strength that still surprised him. Byleth swivels in the stool to face him, planting her feet firmly on the floor and rubbing the tops of her thighs as she watches him. 

“That’s it?” He inquires curiously. “You aren’t at all concerned that I’ll betray you, double cross you, sell you out to your dad?” 

“I know you won’t,” she shrugs, her face impassive. “Ever heard of mutually assured destruction? I wonder how it would look if it got out that their future leader was caught stealing from his own intelligence agency?” 

Ah, of course. “No, I suppose that wouldn’t look too good, would it?” He sighs, internally cursing himself for his carelessness. “Anyhow, I’m glad to have you on my team. First things first, I wanted to look into—”

“Whoa, hold up there, Clyde,” she says, hand raised to interrupt his explanation. “Don’t you dare think for a second that you’re in charge here. We’ll be playing by my rules if we’re going to make any headway on this case. Know that _I_ am using _you_ ,” she announces, jabbing her index finger into his chest, “and I already know exactly what I’m doing with you.”

The sentence sparks something warm deep within Claude’s core, and he can’t help but feel a little flustered. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s been hanging around Sylvain too much. 

_Well,_ he thinks as she grabs a napkin and procures a nearby pen, _nothing wrong with playing around for now._ They still have about a week before the first move in his plan, anyways. Yeah, it’s all coming together now. Perhaps this was why she hadn’t made any moves lately. Like him, she lacked the one thing he’d never admit he needed; a partner. 

She slides the napkin to him, and he examines the neat scrawl closely. It’s a phone number and an email. 

“How would you like a part-time job?” 

  
  
  


__________

  
  
  


Byleth is trying to tame her hair into a sloppy ponytail when Felix walks into her kitchen. He’s dressed in gym shorts and a fitted black top, already beginning with some static stretches to prepare for their run. 

“You look terrible,” is his greeting, squinting critically at her. “You’re really going out like that?” 

“Good morning to you too,” she huffs, letting her hair down. She’d knee him in the groin if her mother wasn’t nearby at the stove. “I went out for a drink last night. I got in late and am currently a little hungover.” Claude had kept her out a lot longer than she had originally planned, and had rudely occupied her thoughts as she lay in bed last night, leaving little room for sleep. His stupidly handsome smile was now seared into her brain.

Felix steps back to examine her, and for some reason, Byleth suddenly feels extremely self-conscious under his gaze. Damn Sylvain. “That explains the dark circles, but you always have those. Now, your hair is something else entirely.” Byleth checks to see if her mother is watching before flipping him off. “Real mature,” he deadpans before mimicking her rude gesture. 

“I don’t need to have my hair in some weird combover to run a faster mile than you,” she retorts, combing her fingers through her dark locks of hair. Maybe she should just cut it.

“For the last time, it’s not—”

“Already bickering again?” Sitri interjects, silencing them both. They both turn to look at her like children caught stealing from a cookie jar, and Byleth sees the sly smile on her mother’s face as she waves a spatula at them. “Or is it something else? Lover’s spat, perhaps?” 

Her tone is teasing, but Felix’s cheeks turn pink, and she can practically feel the heat radiating from him as he turns away with an indignant huff of air. “Don’t be ridiculous.” _What the heck was that about?_

Sitri sighs, but the look she gives Byleth tells her that this conversation is far from over. “If you say so,” she hums, turning back to the eggs on the stove. 

After another lame attempt at a bun, Felix gestures impatiently for her to turn around, and she does. Usually, it’s the most natural thing in the world, he’d done this dozens of times, but today, it’s different. Her shoulders tense when she feels his fingers touch her scalp, Sylvain’s words echoing through her head. 

“You okay?” He asks, beginning to gather her hair into his hand. “You seem a little tense.”

“Yeah,” she nods, her voice hoarser than she had anticipated. “Just anxious about this week.” She’d already regretted giving her number to Claude, and she wonders how it’s possible for someone to be so irritating over text.

 **7:15am** Claude: Morning Teach! Just wondering, does Papa Teach have a favourite colour? Trying to decide if I should go with the blue or black suit for my interview

He’d sent her pictures too. Pictures that Byleth did _not_ stop brushing her teeth to admire as she ogled at the broad expanse of his chest, and admired the way his muscles filled his sleeves. Men were always appealing until they opened their mouths. 

Felix is silent for a few moments, holding his hand out for a hair tie. She hands it to him, her fingers brushing against his. He jerks his hand back, but Byleth hardly notices, her mind stuck on the image of Claude’s tousled brown hair. 

“ _Clyde_ giving you more problems?” 

This time, it’s Byleth who jerks in response. How did he know? Luckily, Felix gets the hair tie around her hair before she pulls away. “Sort of,” she answers wryly, putting a bit of distance between them before turning to face him. “It’s like you said— sometimes he’s insufferable. Also, why didn’t you tell me who he was?”

Felix shrugs. “You never asked.”

It takes all her restraint to not knee him in the groin this time, even with her mother’s back turned.

“Is he bothering you?” His voice is oddly defensive, and Byleth isn’t sure what to make of it.

She’s struggling to find the right words. “No, it’s not that—”

“I can talk to him.”

“Felix, no.”

He doesn’t ask anything more, and they go on their jog. She puts a bit of distance between them, letting Felix get ahead so he isn’t constantly competing to match her pace. 

“You know you don’t owe him anything, right? Just because he bought you flowers doesn’t mean you have to be friends with him. I know he’s a little pushy,” he says when they’re doing some cooldown stretches in her front yard.

Byleth looks up from her spot in the grass. “Who?”

“Claude. Clyde.”

She immediately drops her gaze. “Felix. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why?” Goddess, he’s _so_ stubborn.

Flustered, she fires back, “why do you want to know so badly?”

Defensive as ever, Felix crosses his arms over his chest, glaring down at her. “Because I— I _care_ about you, you idiot,” he snaps harshly, turning away and muttering something she can’t hear. She doesn’t exactly know what’s going on here, but one thing is for sure. 

It’s time for her to take a page out of Claude and Hilda’s book and do a little digging.

“Felix…” she sighs softly, sweeping some grass off her shorts as she stands, moving over to him. “Do you want to get some lunch with me later?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude: One day I'm gonna own this goddamn town  
> Also Claude, sipping alcohol and choking on it: I don't like whiskey it burns my mOUTH


	8. Two Dates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Byleth go on the most awkward dates in the history of Fódlan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all my fellow university students, and all those going into a new school year, I wish you all the best of luck! We really do need it.

As soon as Claude speaks the words, he immediately pulls the phone away from his ear, narrowly avoiding a burst eardrum from the high-pitched squeal on the other end of the line. When the sound that he is convinced only dogs can hear finally subsides, he places the call on speaker, setting it on top of his dresser and staring at the clothes hanging in the closet in front of him, with no clue where to start.

“ _You’re meeting her dad already? Wow, you move faster than I thought,_ ” Hilda comments smugly, and Claude can already picture the gleeful look in her eyes. “ _Wait, is this because of my meddling? Did you guys hit it off that well last night? If I had known all it took was a blind date, I would have set you up ages ago._ ”

“A blind date is a social engagement between two individuals who haven’t previously met, prearranged by a mutual acquaintance,” Claude clarifies, studying the suit his grandfather had given him a few weeks ago. 

There’s a brief pause. “ _Don’t try to distract me with definitions, just say thank you._ ”

He lays the suit on the bed, already starting to poke through his small collection of dress shoes. Wing tips? Oxfords? “A social engagement between two _consenting_ individuals,” he adds, foregoing any mention of gratitude. He’d never hear the end of it. “That wasn’t a blind date because neither of us knew we were meeting and we both already knew each other. That wasn’t a blind date, Hilda. It was an ambush,” he says. “I’m meeting her dad for an interview. I’m hoping to be his intern.”

“ _Ah, so you can get closer to her. You know, sometimes you are smart, Claude._ ” Yes, he’s smart, but apparently not smart enough to get anything through the pretty little skull of hers.

“That’s not— ugh, sure. Fine,” he shrugs, deciding it’ll be easier to agree rather than try to convince her otherwise. Can’t win it all. “Anyway, back to the real reason I’m calling. What kind of shoes do I wear to an interview?”

If there’s one foolproof way to throw Hilda off topic, it’s fashion. Better yet, his lack thereof. “ _Depends on the outfit,_ ” she says after a few moments of contemplation. “ _It’s an interview, so you’ll be wearing a suit, obviously. Anything will work, so long as it’s black or blue, and nothing overboard like a three-piece suit. You aren’t wearing one of those, are you?_ ”

Claude immediately glances at the three-piece suit he’d selected. “No,” he says, stuffing it back into his closet.

“ _Okay, good,_ ” she approves. “ _If you choose black, then wear black shoes. If you choose blue, then wear brown shoes. Doesn’t matter what type._ ” 

He unearths two simple blazers. One black and one blue, both unworn and both gifts from Hilda to ‘add some variety to his wardrobe.’ Perfect. “Thanks, Hilda, I owe you one. I’ll text you...tomorrow.” 

“ _You owe me a lot, actually. I expect a full report by—”_

He grabs his phone and hits ‘end’ before she can get any further, turning back to the task at hand.

Claude examines his reflection in the mirror. The suits fit well, proof that Hilda was capable of putting in effort when she wanted to. He looks good, he knows this, but would it be enough to impress Jeralt? 

The napkin sitting on his desk catches his attention. Who better to ask than the man’s daughter? Teach would give it to him straight. Opening up the camera, he makes sure to flex considerably and snaps a few quick photos in both the blue and black options, sending them to Byleth.

Speaking of Teach, she’d suggested that he take at least a week to prepare before going in for an interview. She’d begrudgingly offered to help concoct a fool-proof plan to woo her father, insisting that he was not a man to be so easily swayed by smooth words. 

Claude, true to his nature of self-reliance, had refused. Interviews were easy, he’d argued. It was just talking yourself up, and he thought he was already pretty good at that. Worked on her, didn’t it? 

That shut her up. 

“Fine,” she’d snapped over the quiet chatter in the near empty bar, scrunching her nose in the cute way that she did and shaking her head. “Since you’re so confident in your own abilities, why don’t I tell my father to meet you tomorrow?” 

“Perfect,” he’d replied, because it had been. He’d gotten what he wanted. He’d crush the interview, win Papa Teach over completely, and utilize his position as a lowly intern at one of the biggest firms in Fódlan to start unravelling the mystery that kept him tossing and turning in bed at night. 

What he didn’t take into consideration was that this man was an absolute question mark. There wasn’t much to go off— like any technologically challenged father, his social media presence was dry, with a sprinkling of tags from his wife that were Claude’s saving grace. 

It seemed that the only two things that he enjoyed were fishing with his daughter and drinking with Felix’s parents. Two things Claude knew little about (even though his family technically owned Derdriu, the fish-laden ‘Aquatic Capital’ of Leicester, and his own father could drink an entire convoy under the table). He anticipated some stilted smalltalk, but that just left him more room to dazzle him with all that was the expertly crafted pizzazz of Claude von Riegan. It should have been easy.

It _should_ have been. 

His phone buzzes, and the reply from Byleth is not about how good his ass looked in the black pants, or how good his biceps looked in the blue blazer. Instead, half an hour before their scheduled meeting, the text from Byleth was about the address of the restaurant that Jeralt now wished to meet at. Not a word about his undoubtedly great asset. 

He’d expected a standard interview. Jeralt didn’t seem like the type to go all out and woo a prospective intern with an extravagant lunch. No, Claude had assumed he would stride across the marble floors of the Seiros & Associates office, sit in a cushy leather chair, and choke down a few sips of whiskey that was definitely more expensive than it had any business being. His gut instinct told him that this would be easy. 

Only occasionally, very rarely, were Claude’s instincts ever wrong. 

It seemed that this was one of those times. 

Claude had to admit, he was a bit thrown. He’d never been to this restaurant before, and he hadn’t the time to study the menu beforehand and decide on what to order. What would the lighting be like? Would they be out in the afternoon sun, making it hard to read Jeralt’s expressions? He should bring some sunglasses just in case. Speaking of, what about the unspoken dress code? Would Jeralt expect him to dress in formal work attire? Business casual? Just casual? 

Claude checks the distance between his apartment and the restaurant. About 23 minutes away. He’ll take his chances on the outfit. 

Maybe Jeralt can appreciate how good his ass looks. 

  
  


__________

  
  


The backdrop for their meeting wasn’t what Claude expected. It wasn’t a swanky, high-brow place that served small, expensive cuts of meat and the finest wines served by waiters dressed to the nines. No, the atmosphere here was much more laid-back than the usual places lawyers occupied, filled with chatter from the baristas behind the counter and lighthearted laughter from groups of students hunched over textbooks and squinting at laptops. Upon entering, he was greeted with a strong waft of freshly ground coffee, granting him a boost of energy and adding a comforting spring to his step as he surveyed his surroundings, looking for Jeralt. 

At a table tucked into the corner of the cafe, Jeralt sat by himself, indulging in what he guessed was a mug of coffee. Claude’s heart jumped into his throat as an unusual wave of panic surged through him. If there was one word he would use to describe the famous lawyer, it was; gruff. With an unshaven jaw, unruly hair, and deeply-lined face, he was about the perfect contrast of the clean-cut, young, and bright-eyed lawyers splayed across billboards, building their fortune upon the misfortune of others.

Leaning back comfortably in a chair that was easily too small for his large frame, if Claude hadn’t been so shrewdly observant, it was easy to claim that Jeralt looked bored. His subtle glare - somehow still harsh and scrutinizing - cut through him like daggers being dragged across his bare skin, was his main indicator. He’d been zeroed in on him since the moment he’d arrived at their table and greeted him with awfully tight-gripped handshake. 

That had been five minutes ago. 

Claude clears his throat, a dual attempt to draw Jeralt’s attention and fill the awkward silence that has settled over them. “Uh, sir—”

Jeralt squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling deeply. “Shh. Shut up,” he breathes through what Claude recognizes as an irritated exhale. “I’m trying to think.” 

“About what to order?” The seemingly forgotten menu resting beneath Jeralt’s elbows lays open on the brunch section.

“No. I’m just trying to figure out why…” He trails off without explanation, further stoking the fire that is Claude’s natural curiosity. 

“Why…” he presses, testing their boundaries.

The way Jeralt’s eyes narrow is almost undetectable as he picks up the resume Claude had prepared. “I was trying to figure out why my daughter thought to recommend the son of a politician to be my intern,” he finishes, as if the answer had been so obvious. “You’re a Riegan.” 

Ah, there it was, the inescapable wariness surrounding his last name. “I am, yeah. Don’t worry though, I assure you I won’t be causing any problems while working under you, just treat me like any other—”

The man releases a sharp laugh that makes Claude’s hairs stand on end. “You think I care about who you are? Don’t worry, that isn’t the problem.”

Now Claude was confused. “If that isn’t it then...what is it?” A waitress comes by, refilling Jeralt’s cup and offering Claude his own.

He doesn’t get to take a sip though, because the moment the waitress steps away, Jeralt pounces like a wolf on an unsuspecting deer. “Why would you want to work for me? Can’t that old man of yours set you up with a cushy job in one of his own offices?” 

He certainly could, but he sure as hell wouldn’t. “Experience,” Claude answers easily. “Law school is one thing, but lectures on criminology and lessons on torts aren’t nearly as stimulating as watching a powerhouse lawyer such as yourself commandeer an entire courtroom. I’m a very hands-on learner, and who better to learn from than you, sir?” 

Jeralt doesn’t crack so much as smile at the praise, face remaining infuriatingly impassive as he looks on blankly. “Is that so? Are you saying that my daughter’s tutorial isn’t hands-on enough? She isn’t a good enough teacher for you?” 

Claude’s charming smile wavers slightly. Ah, so this is what it was like to shoot yourself in the foot.

“No, of course not! Teach is great,” he laughs, hoping that it adequately masks the slight wobble in his voice. 

That, surprisingly, makes Jeralt raise a brow. “Teach?”

“Oh, uh, it’s short for—”

“I know what it’s short for,” Jeralt snaps. “She just lets you call her that?” 

Well, he hadn’t really given her the choice, but she hadn’t complained either. “Yes. In fact, we’re such good friends, she gave me a nickname too.”

“What is it?”

Huh. He hadn’t really expected Jeralt to care, so he’s ironically drawing a blank. “‘Clyde.’” 

Jeralt chokes on his sip of coffee. “ _You’re_ Clyde?”

The tone is so accusatory that he wonders what exactly Byleth had told her father about him. “Well, I’m technically Claude, but you can call me either, I guess.” 

There’s an awkward silence that follows as they blink at one another. Jeralt’s forehead creased as he shook his head slightly, muttering something Claude couldn’t quite catch. 

This interview isn’t going at all as planned. His way of vetting a potential hire was certainly unorthodox. Jeralt does not look wooed, because Claude hadn’t a chance to do any wooing. There have been no questions about his work ethic, qualifications, his strengths and weaknesses, if he considered himself a team player or not. Was this even an interview?

Jeralt leaned forward, and Claude instinctively leaned back. “Why do you _really_ want to work for me? Don’t give me any flowery bullshit about how great I am or how you want to enhance your learning. You know this job is an intern position. It’s making copies and getting coffee. You’ll rarely see the inside of a courtroom.”

Claude worked to swallow the lump stuck in his throat before answering with great care. “There are things I need to do,” he starts slowly. “Dreams I must see to fruition. I want to do more than be a figurehead, presiding over a country full of people who don’t even like me. I want to help people, I want to make a difference.”

Not a complete lie, but it’s close enough to the truth. 

“Okay.” 

Now _that_ made Claude uncomfortable. “Sir?” 

Jeralt slams his mug down onto the table. “You’re hired. See you tomorrow.” He stands abruptly to leave, and though he’s stunned beyond comprehension, he also rises from his seat.

“I just— Don’t you need to consult your superiors about this?” 

Jeralt clasps his hands together, presses them to his lips, then gestures downwards. “I don’t answer to anyone. I can hire whoever I want and for some reason, I want you. Congrats, Clyde, you wowed me.” He turns to leave but Claude bolts around him, grasping the man’s alarmingly solid biceps.

“Or is it because you didn’t bother to find any other applicants and I’m the only one Byleth suggested to you?” 

The way Jeralt’s eye twitches tells Claude that he’d hit the nail on the head. 

Jeralt only sighs tiredly, lips pressed into a tight-lipped smile. “Am I going to see you on Monday or not?” 

Claude holds his hand out for Jeralt to shake, hoping he’ll still have feeling in his hand after this one. “I look forward to working for you, sir.” 

He can’t wait to tell Teach.

  
  


**__________**

  
  
  


The first thing that Felix notices when he walks into the cafe is that Byleth looks nicer than usual. She’d forgone her usual weekend attire of a t-shirt and leggings combo today, opting to swap her leggings out for a pair of tapered beige slacks. Her hair is done up in a neat bun at the nape of her neck, she’s wearing a crisp white shirt, the top three buttons undone and exposing part of her sharp collarbones. She looks very...professorly.

He’s not sure _why_ he’s been noticing these things lately. He’d never paid much attention to her looks before, it just simply never mattered to him. 

Byleth waves a hand in front of his face. Shit, had he been staring? “Felix?”

Felix takes a step backwards, feeling irritated for some reason. He can already feel a headache coming on. “I’m listening.” He wasn’t even aware she’d been talking. 

“Of course you were,” says Byleth, raising a brow. 

“What’s the occasion?” He asks once they’ve found a table, trying to sound as casual as possible. 

She looks up from her menu, blinking at him. “Occasion?” 

His chin juts towards her. “Your outfit.” 

“Ah,” she glances down at her shirt, smoothing it over self-consciously. “I have a meeting with a student later.” 

He only nods, stealing a look down at his shirt. He hadn’t changed since their run. His father had pounced on him the second he walked through the door, bombarding him with reports on security for the Leicester Founding Gala this coming weekend. Normally, Felix could have cared less, but he’d be damned if he let Glenn outdo his assessment on the boar’s detail. By the time he’d wrapped up and faxed the report to the firm, he’d bypassed changing in his haste to arrive at lunch on time. 

Felix opens up his own menu. “Well, I think you look nice,” he says without thinking. 

Byleth is staring at him strangely when he finally looks up from the salad section. 

“What?” he asks with a frown. 

“Did you just compliment me?” 

Felix ignores her, closing the menu, “I’m ready to order when you are.” 

“Hey, you can’t just change the subject,” she protests while Felix raises a hand to call over the waitress. “You said I looked nice.” 

“And?” 

“You don’t usually...compliment people,” she points out slowly. She’s still looking at him weirdly, and Felix, as always, works extra hard to avoid her gaze. 

“I’ll just have the garden salad,” he tells the waitress, handing her his menu. Byleth scrambles to pick something random. Felix suddenly finds himself very parched, gulping down his water but still rolling his eyes when he feels the heat of Byleth’s stare burn holes into his forehead again. 

“It was just an observation,” he says, hoping the tips of his ears aren’t red. “Don’t be weird about it,” he adds, even though he knows for a fact that he’s the one who just complimented her _looks._ When had he ever been one to care about looks? Specifically hers?

“I’m not. You’re the one acting weird right now,” she accused, her tone harsher than he’d anticipated, eyes narrowing down the table at him. He doesn’t like that look. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been weird since I came back.” 

It was certainly a good question, one he’d been asking himself as of late. He’d been around Byleth for the majority of his life. Their friendship had been forged years ago, and she’d been a constant presence in his life since before he could remember. She was amongst his oldest, closest friends. What changed?

It was obvious something in their dynamic had shifted. Whether Byleth was aware of it, he wasn’t sure. He definitely was. It’d come and go in waves, these emotions that swelled beneath the surface of his skin whenever Sylvain made passing comments on her appearance, or Claude asked his annoyingly prying questions about her. It was strange, considering Felix had never felt anything for her beyond the need to keep up with her and Glenn. Until he could figure out what this was, he’d have to do what he did best; deflect. 

“I have... stuff I need to figure out,” he mumbles lamely. _Understatement of the year._ “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

She only frowns deeper. “Felix, I’m sor-” 

“Don’t,” he sighs. “I don’t need an apology.” 

“What do you need then?” 

“A date,” he blurts out, wanting nothing more than to fall into a very deep hole.

Byleth is silent for a whole minute, openly gawking at him as he turns away yet again. “A date?” She echoes. 

He draws in a sharp inhale. “Kind of. The Leicester Founding Gala this Saturday. My father wants Glenn and I there in plainclothes as part of the boar’s security detail.” It wasn’t entirely made up. He did have to go to that stupid gala in Derdriu. He was technically just there as backup. “It’d be...bearable if you came with me.” Perhaps if she came along it’d give him the chance to figure what exactly was going on between them. 

She seems flustered again, her breath shaky. “Felix, I don’t-” His heart nearly jumps out of his chest when her phone buzzes, and she immediately lifts it from where it lays face down on the table. Why the hell was he feeling so anxious? Whatever it is must be important, because her eyes are glued to the screen for a good thirty seconds before she taps out a reply.

“Okay,” she shrugs once she tucks her phone away, a smile tugging on the corner of her lips. “Why not?” 

Felix’s eyes widen. “You...you will?” He’d honestly half expected her to say no. Byleth was stubborn, she didn’t just let herself get roped into things. 

“Yeah, of course,” she nods enthusiastically, her face seemingly brighter as she smiles. “I couldn’t think of a better time to visit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt comes home with a Clyde related headache and a bottle of alcohol. The headache worsens when Rodrigue calls to tell him that their kids are going on a date.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
